Asterix and the Dream Whisperer
by PutMoneyInThyPurse
Summary: The Romans try a new weapon on the Gaulish village: a Roman agent who can speak into people's dreams. IMPORTANT NOTE: "La equivocación de Panorámix" has been UPDATED as of June 9 RIGHT BELOW THIS FIC.
1. Chapter 1

The ruler of the greatest empire the world had ever known, the Emperor of the Roman Republic, was having cause to regret that it was a republic. The senate was sitting, as senates tend to do, and instead of sitting down and shutting up, as Julius Caesar explained his plans for expansion of military conquests, they were objecting, complaining and bellyaching. The emperor had just about had a bellyful…

"Caesar's conquests have gone belly-up! He can't even control a handful of barbarians! And he expects us to fill his soldiers' bellies with the taxes taken from our provinces!" bellowed Senator Contentius.

"Now, don't be bellicose…" muttered a senator.

"Quiet!" called Senator Audacius, presiding over the session from his position on the podium. His words fell on deaf ears as the shouting in the Senate grew louder, many yelling against Contentius but quite a few for him.

"You ought to silence him, O Caesar," an Imperial aide muttered privately to Caesar, as quietly as he could over the din.

"There's no silencing him," Caesar grumbled. "He's like a dog with a bone, is Contentius."

The aide nodded sagely. "That Gaulish village is always a bone of contention."

"Silence!" Caesar's voice had an edge that cut across the babbling senators. "Senators, Caesar has heard you!"

"You may hear," Contentius flung his toga over his shoulder, smacking the senator behind him with it, "but the question is, what are you going to do about it?"

Julius Caesar raised his chin. There was an imposing air to his posture that gave even the most belligerent senators pause. "I recognize the truth of what you say. This has gone on for too long. I shall crush that Gaulish village, and you shall all bear witness to Rome's rule over the ancient world!"

* * *

Fine words, but achieving them? Not so fine. Caesar was in a fine fix, pacing back and forth in his quarters. Cleopatra, who was visiting, watched him sidelong as he strutted and fretted, amusement in her fine eyes. "Another fine mess you've gotten yourself into, O Divine Caesar," she smiled.

Caesar paused in his furious pacing. Truth be told, he felt like pulling a Cleopatra himself, and smashing a vase or two to calm his nerves. He merely took a deep breath through his nostrils, "Nothing is any use. Brute force is useless. What kind of an idiot would I be to mobilize the entire army of Rome to crush a handful of madmen? I would be a laughing-stock…"

"And more so if they failed," Cleopatra said, caressing her pet tiger.

Caesar still couldn't quite bring himself to smash a vase, but he did clench his fists, screw his eyes shut tight and make a sound very like, "Gnnnn!" He took a deep breath and resumed his pacing. "I've tried everything. My crack troops have been defeated, they don't care about gold, the sower of discord turned out to be a huge failure, the spy—"

"Julius!" Cleopatra's bright brown eyes lit up as she turned towards him. For a moment, he was so distracted by her loveliness that he forgot everything. Then, he concentrated on what she was saying. "…they call the Dream Whisperer?"

He frowned for a moment. When he had to remember a name or a face, he flew through the faces in his memory, sharp and clear, until one stood out clearly. This name had trouble attaching itself to a face. Ridiculous! Caesar did not forget faces! Cleopatra's lilting voice continued. "When there was the trouble with that praetor they said was in Pompey's pay, and you sent that secret agent of yours to spy on him in his sleep—"

"Caius Insidius!" The light broke in upon Caesar's brain, although more like the croak of a raven than the carol of a bird. "The Dream Whisperer!"

"That's the one."

Caesar dropped into a chair, thinking furiously. Unmasking the traitorous Perfidius, once Praetor of Corsica, had been a bad business, and he wasn't sure he liked or even trusted Caius Insidius, even though the man was a member of Caesar's own Secret Service. He was one of the best strategists and thinkers in the service, and was loyal to Caesar like no other. He had, however, the rather unsettling talent of interrogating people in their dreams. Or speaking to them, anyway; Caesar had been too squeamish to ask what exactly it entailed to infiltrate a man's slumber. Having gained admittance into the suspect senator's bedchamber, Caius Insidius had whispered into Perfidius' dreams, and the man had answered back with confirmation that he was indeed in the pay of Pompey. That had been the end of that: Perfidius had been thrown to the lions, and Insidius had gone back to the Secret Service, doing only the gods knew what.

"The Dream Whisperer," Caesar muttered slowly, running a hand over his chin. Someone had called Insidius that back then, and the name had stuck.

Cleopatra knew better than to say more. She sat back and watched the wheels turn in Caesar's mind.

* * *

Since that meeting, a week had passed – a week of the most strenuous and frenetic activity the Secret Service of Ancient Rome had seen in most agents' living memory. Caesar had given orders that Caius Insidius was to study the records on the Gaulish village, but he had not been prepared for the massive amount of requests for information that had followed upon his command. Caesar had to admit he was impressed, even though the fellow made him uneasy. Insidius had requested records that Caesar himself hadn't known existed; he had sent messengers to the centurions who had commanded the fortified camps of Totorum, Laudanum, Aquarium and Compendium, with lists of questions to be answered, about their previous campaigns against the village; he had dispatched messengers to ask about the village warriors' and druid's travels to Corsica, Belgium and beyond; he had sent further messengers to detachments who had faced the Gauls on land and sea. Respecting the agent's thoroughness, Caesar had commanded that the best resources of the Roman army be placed at his disposal, and the Secret Service told him that it had taken quite a few of these resources before Insidius was satisfied.

Caesar drew himself up in his seat as Caius Insidius finally arrived for his audience at the appointed time. The man, although a Roman citizen through and through, was clearly Numidian by birth from the blue-black shade of his skin. Caesar would not be Emperor if he didn't know that his crack spy was the offspring of a love affair between a Roman Senator and a freed Numidian slave woman, both of whom had died and left their son to his illustrious career in the Secret Service. Heredity had served Caius Insidius well: his unprepossessing appearance made it easy for his enemies to underestimate him. The Dream Whisperer was slight and short of stature, with cropped-close dark hair and a small round nose. The one distinctive feature about him was his large, flint-black eyes. Although they appeared sleepy and nonchalant, they could turn piercing in a moment, giving the unsettling impression that he could see into your soul.

Right now, the agent was looking into Caesar as though he could see inside Caesar, see the emperor's distrust of him. His well-formed lips curved into a tight smile. A shiver ran down Caesar's spine. "Ave Caesar."

"Ave." Caesar forced himself to set his unease aside. He had not become what he was by listening to foolish whims. "Caius Insidius, it has been suggested to me that you might know of some strategy to conquer the village of madmen in Armorica known as the Indomitable Gauls. Caesar has been informed of your diligence in studying their actions, and Caesar is pleased. Now Caesar asks you: Do you think your talents can be used to bring them to their knees?"

Insidius raised his head and nodded confidently. "I am assured of success, O Divine Caesar."

Caesar's eyebrows went up. "It would be better to speak truth now, Insidius, if you are making empty promises. To lie to Caesar is to lie to the gods."

"Who would dare to attempt to deceive our divine emperor? Why, he would see right through me," Insidius murmured, eyes still boring into Caesar's own. Caesar felt exposed, as though the spy's gaze could penetrate his toga. He cleared his throat and straightened up.

"You have spent a long time in study. Now tell me your plan."

Insidius nodded, his eyes taking on a less piercing aspect, becoming merely bright and professional. Caesar motioned him to a couch, taking one himself; he sat upright on it, and his agent followed suit. "O Emperor of Emperors, Divine Caesar," said Insidius, "the best way to approach a chain is from its weakest link."

Caesar frowned. "I thought you had studied their names and descriptions!"

"Indeed I have. I know them now better than my own family."

"Then you know that we've tried it. The bard is just as dangerous as the rest of them. He may seem harmless, but they'll move heaven and earth to save him. And that's not counting his voice, which should be classed as a weapon all to itself."

"But it is not the bard I mean."

"Who, then?"

Insidius' voice was quietly confident. "The large brute."

"Obelix?!" Caesar rose, incredulous. "He is the most powerful of all the Gauls! He is permanently strengthened by the magic potion! Why, on one occasion, completely alone and unarmed, he managed to defeat and demoralize my crack troops, sent specially to bring the rebel Gauls to heel! All by himself!" He sat, panting, chagrined at having let his agitation show so plainly. "You must have the names mixed up, Insidius."

"Begging your pardon, O Wonder of Wonders, Divine Caesar, I have made no mistake. True, the Gaul called Obelix is physically strong. But he is emotionally the weakest and most suggestible of them all. He is extremely susceptible to feminine charms…"

"We've tried that before," sighed Caesar. "He's too simple for that to work for long. He seems to have an odd stupidity that defies seduction."

"Indeed, O Caesar," Insidius nodded. "It is that which I intend to use: psychological warfare. His simplicity makes him vulnerable to attack."

Caesar shook his head rapidly. "Tried that as well. Drained Rome's treasury dry to get him, and the other idiots, selling menhirs. Reports arrived that he abandoned menhir-dealing before any of the other villagers did, preferring to wallow in the mud like the boars he's always hunting with his friend Asterix. And why _that_ strategist wastes his time with the big brute is another of the Gauls' mysteries," he added, half to himself.

Insidius had been nodding throughout the previous monologue as if listening to things with which he was already well familiar. "You have inadvertently touched upon the very point that I wish to utilize, O Caesar."

"But I've just told you! We have tried to split them up, to sow discord, and they ended up banding together more strongly than before!"

"It is not hate that I plan to use, O Divine Caesar, but love."

"Oh, no." Caesar buried his head in his hands. "More talk of women?"

"No. I speak not of _eros_ , but _āgāpe_ : brotherly love."

 _"Āgāpe?"_ Caesar raised his head, brow furrowed. "Explain this scheme to me."

Insidius leaned forward and lowered his voice. "It has often been said, O Caesar, that but for the druid, the dwarf and the monster, the village would fall. It would be simple to capture the druid, but for the fact that the midget and the brute always rescue him, and the brute defends the village until they get the druid back. Would you say, O General – for I speak to you now, Divine Emperor, in your capacity as a warrior and strategist – that if the great fat brute left the village, it would be possible to capture their druid and subdue the rest?"

Throughout Insidius' monologue, the emperor had gradually raised his head from his hands, and was now listening intently. "Yes… Yes, it could be possible, if the druid were captured quietly and siege were laid to the village. Yes…" His gaze grew distant as various plans of battle unfolded before his mind's eye. "But," he blinked, suddenly seeming to awaken from his reverie, "how would you get Obelix to leave? He would never abandon his friends, and I can tell you with certainty that he would die rather than let Asterix in particular come to harm."

Insidius' smile only broadened. _"Exactly."_

Caesar scratched his imperial head.

"He will always want to be close to him, so long as feels he is protecting him. But if he felt his presence would harm that precious blood brother of his, he would go to the ends of the earth to keep him from being harmed."

"But how in the name of Jupiter would that happen?"

"That, O Divine Caesar, is where I come in. Will you give me the support I need for this mission?"

Caesar straightened. "You are an agent of the Roman Empire. The resources of the Empire itself shall be at your disposal."

Insidius nodded approvingly, turning the nod into a bow just in time to halt Caesar's uneasy feeling that it was he who worked for the spy, not the other way around. "Thank you, O Divine Caesar. Allow me to share with you the outline of my plan…"


	2. Chapter 2

This is for Pilyarquitect. Thank you.

* * *

"Come down here! Dogmatix hates it when I have to uproot the tree!"

"Won't, so there!"

Obelix stood against a mighty oak, hands flat on the trunk. "Asterix, come over here and catch, would you?"

"Just… a… second…" Putting on a burst of speed, Asterix caught a little boy running for all he was worth. The child was fast, but no match for the magic potion. Asterix tucked the kicking, squealing youngster under his arm and jogged up to Obelix. He shaded his eyes as he looked up; although a little dazzled by the sunlight filtering through the trees, he could just make out a small figure at the top. "Hmm, all right. Hold that a minute, would you?" He handed the little boy over to Obelix and stood under the tree, arms spread.

"Ready… steady… go!"

Holding the little boy in one hand, Obelix shook the tree vigorously with the other. From above, a yell of "Noooo!" grew louder and seemed to rise in pitch – Getafix had told them it was called the Dopplus Effect – as the reluctant pupil sailed down from above and landed securely in Asterix's arms. "LET ME GO! REACTIONARY OLD FOGIES!"

"WE DEMAND TO BE FREE OF THE RIGID OLD CANON!" cried the one in Obelix's arms. "GIVE ME LIBERTY OR GIVE ME DEFF!"

"Every year they think up stranger things to say, Asterix," Obelix said, scratching his head.

"Yes they do, Obelix," smiled Asterix. "I think that's the last of them. Shall we?"

They trotted off to the small schoolyard, where Getafix was getting ready to give the children of the little Gaulish village their first lesson of the school year.

Once the little ones were seated, the scolding began. "Really, children! Aren't you ashamed of yourselves? Every year it's the same thing! While I'm grateful to my assistants for their help…" Asterix watched the druid as he glanced over at where he stood. "Oh, well, Obelix seems to have left. You will convey my thanks to him, won't you, Asterix?"

Wide-eyed, Asterix looked at the empty spot near him where Obelix had stood only a moment before. "Um… yes, of course."

"Good, and my thanks to you, too. Now as I was saying…"

Asterix, knowing the speech by heart after so many years, retreated quietly, letting the class go on without his observation. He looked left and right, but no Obelix. Huh. Usually his friend stayed for the annual lecture, where Getafix lectured the children about how he had to round them up every year like wild boar piglets, or when the druid initiated—

—Oh. Classroom challenge.

Classroom challenge, Obelix's nemesis. Asterix couldn't help a wry smile at what had happened last year, and several years running before that. Getafix would ask a simple question, and Obelix would fail to answer it. Then, Obelix would end up sitting among the children, forced by the druid to go back to school. Clearly, Obelix had decided that this time around, discretion was the better part of valour.

Asterix couldn't say he blamed him. He strolled backwards until it was acceptable to start running, then turned and made a beeline for the forest. While he was fonder of his studies than the average Gaul, Asterix had to admit to himself that, while he still loved learning, he was very, very glad to have outgrown the monotony of lessons. Especially on a perfect day like today, sunlit and fragrant with grass and flowers, the wind rustling softly through the trees. How much more fun to play with his best friend in the forest! The feeling of playing truant made the grass all the greener and the air all the sweeter as Asterix jogged through the forest. "Obelix!" he called. "O, Obelix!"

High up from his perch in a thick-leaved tree, Caius Insidius watched the small warrior trotting around and calling. A few moments earlier, he had espied the big fat brute, little dog at his heels, jogging through the forest, looking around as though afraid of being caught. What could make the mastodon so afraid? Certainly no physical threat. Either fear of embarrassment, or of hurting someone, possibly. Insidius thought perhaps the former. There was something about the furtive way he looked around. Fear of public speaking or public humiliation would do it every time: the fat man had probably been afraid of being prevailed upon by someone he liked or respected too much to refuse or strike with his fists. He quickly ruled out the chief: while there were reports that Obelix respected him more than the others, he could only be made this furtive, this desirous of escape, by someone whose good opinion he feared losing, someone whom he would not contradict. That meant Asterix, their druid Getafix, or a woman. Not Panacea, he thought, recalling the drawing of the blonde beauty, for she had married away from the village…

The sound of voices told Insidius that Asterix had found Obelix, out of sight of the tree. Their height difference wasn't so obvious from above as they walked into the clearing, becoming visible to him once again. He knew from the pictures that Asterix was half Obelix's height, and easily a tenth of his size. At the moment, though, all that could be seen at this angle was that Obelix's girth was far larger than his friend's. "The druid doesn't mean anything, Obelix, you know that!" Asterix was saying. There was a smile in his tone.

"All very well for you to say." The fat man's tone was sulky. By Jupiter, he was even more of a child than reports had led him to believe. "You're not the one sitting there having your braids pulled."

 _Braids pulled?_ While Insidius tried to work out what that meant, Asterix burst out laughing.

"Oh, Mr Asterix thinks it's funny, does he!" Obelix snapped. He turned, making to stalk off. "Come on, Dogmatix!"

"Sorry, Obelix!" Asterix ran around to stand in front of his friend, holding up a hand. Insidius doubted that his fat friend would be impressed by his apology, given the fact that Asterix was still laughing. "I didn't mean it!"

"Well, I think you did!"

Asterix appeared to stop being apologetic. "Obelix, don't be silly!"

Obelix's voice rose. "Oh, it's silly now, is it?"

Asterix's rose to match. "Stop being so touchy!"

"Touchy. Right. Well, Dogmatix and I will go and be touchy somewhere else!"

"Right, you do that, you pigheaded great idiot!"

"I will, you insensitive twerp!"

Asterix started to get red in the face. "I can manage just fine on my own!"

"Dogmatix and I will be perfectly fine without you!" Obelix bellowed from the other end of the clearing, and stamped off.

Insidius watched as Asterix stood with his hands in his pockets, fuming, while Obelix disappeared beneath the trees, little dog whining behind him. Obelix stumped off through the forest. What a pair of prize idiots, Insidius thought. He didn't even fully understand what they were quarrelling about, but was this the inseparable pair he'd been led to believe could never be parted? From the looks of it, they didn't need _him_ to split them up; they were doing fine all by themselves.

He blinked.

Obelix was hurrying back, bawling like a baby. Asterix was already on the move, meeting him halfway. Blubbering too, he leapt into his friend's arms. "I'm sorry, Obelix!"

"I'm sorry, Asterix!"

"It's my fault!"

"No, Asterix, it's all my fault!"

"I shouldn't have said what I said! Forgive me, Obelix!"

"I shouldn't have called you what I called you! Forgive me, Asterix!"

Still wailing like boars having their throats cut, they squeezed each other for all they were worth. The little dog added to the din by howling.

Their tears were short-lived, though: in a moment they had dried, and the two lunatics were smiling at each other, wiping their eyes. Insidius couldn't help tapping the side of his head as he sat in his perch. He soon focused, though, for the fat brute had the air of unburdening himself, and Insidius needed to listen.

The pair sat side-by-side, almost touching his tree. "I'm sorry, Asterix, it's just that every year it's the same thing. It makes me feel stupid and ignorant."

"Obelix, how can you say such a thing? Just because you can't always remember dates and names…"

"Oh come on, Asterix. If you hadn't helped me at lessons, I'd have been a washout."

"That kind of talk won't wash with me, Obelix! I did no such thing."

"Asterix, don't whitewash the truth. You were always top of the class. I was always the dunce."

Asterix jumped up. "Obelix! You were no such thing. I'll wash my hands of this conversation if you keep saying that."

Obelix curled into himself a little. "It's true. I was the bottom of the class. They made fun of me, I remember, because I was so slow—"

"They had no right to do that!"

Obelix smiled, looking touched. "It was always you who made sure I didn't get left behind."

Asterix looked away. "Well…"

Obelix's big fingers played with the grass. "You defended me. Before, you know, before I fell into the potion."

Insidius could just make out Asterix's face reddening. "It wasn't anything to speak of."

"But they hit you instead of me!"

Asterix shrugged. "Ancient history."

Insidius held his breath. This was providential.

"But…" Obelix seemed reluctant to let it go. "I _was_ the slowest. If you hadn't explained everything to me…"

"So you took a little longer to get it. You got it in the end. It's the end result that counts. It's not about how easy it is, it's about how hard you work. It came easily for me, but you had to work hard. And you worked harder than I did, and you ended up learning all your subjects. You left school the same way we all did, didn't you? You passed all the tests, right?"

Obelix nodded so fast his head was a blur. He looked proud.

"There you are. You're no less than any of us. If anything, it's worth more because you made more of an effort to get there."

Obelix flung his arms round Asterix—by Apollo, Insidius didn't see how the great brute hadn't crushed his midget friend long before now—and hugged him. His friend returned the embrace enthusiastically, Asterix's small arms barely encircling his friend's giant neck. "You're the best friend a Gaul could have, Asterix."

Asterix blushed again. "Are we or are we not going to go on this hunt?"

Arms round each other, the pair headed out of the clearing.

Insidius remained in the tree, mind running a mile a minute. Well. Well, well. Well, well, well, well, _well_. This intelligence was priceless.

He settled back into the branches, engineering his plan of attack.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you so much for the reviews. They made my day. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

* * *

Caius Insidius had done his homework. Privately, he didn't think he was _that_ much better an agent than all the others: what made him stand out was that he took the time to think things through. So many idiots rushed in without making proper plans.

For example, he had taken care to plot the exact locations of the village gates, coming and going from the forest to the gates so many times that he could traverse the distance blindfold. He'd made a point of planning a route that took him past Asterix's hut, in order to make doubly sure that the big brute wasn't sleeping over at the midget's, as was his wont more often than not. No, not 'the big brute' – _Obelix,_ Caius corrected himself, _Obelix._ Time to immerse himself completely in his role. Obelix stayed over at his own house maybe once a week, when he wanted to wake up early and get some menhirs made – and that was another mystery, where he delivered them all, and, by Juno, his father before him – but most of the rest of the time he spent the night at his friend's.

Insidius had researched carefully, but despite many hints, he had found no signs of _eros_ between the warrior pair. He rolled his eyes as he slipped through the darkened, sleeping village. Even in this, the barbarians lacked the civilization to do as any self-respecting Roman bonded pair would have done. Wedded to no woman, nor yet seeking consummation of their own union – how did these Gauls even call themselves men? They seemed to comport themselves like something out of a story for children.

Like a shadow Insidius slipped through the village, and like a shadow he approached Obelix's hut.

"WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!" A tiny thunderbolt blasted out of the house – and blasted was the word, as the infernal animal streaked towards Insidius, intent on bloodshed. If Insidius hadn't planned for a disturbance, this would have been the end. His hands were already outstretched, bearing a towel saturated with a potent sleeping-draught. As the little dog leapt at him, he caught it in the towel, wrapping it firmly all about the animal's small body.

It was only a few seconds until the barking subsided, and the small animal went limp beneath the fabric. Insidius carefully laid the dog down, the towel covering it. He needed to work undisturbed.

"Dogmatix?" came Obelix's slurred voice from above.

"Meow," Insidius called, high-pitched and innocent.

"Oh, Dogmatix, give it a rest," rumbled the deep voice, changing timbre as its owner rolled over in bed. The wooden floor to the sleeping-chamber creaked, and in a few moments, all was quiet once more.

Only when the crickets began to chirp again did Insidius anoint the door-hinges with oil, and slip silently into the big man's bedchamber. This was where his real work began.

Insidius wasn't really sure how he did what he did; he supposed it must be a gift from the gods, for he had tried to teach it to numerous other agents and failed. He had told them what to do: sit by the head of the bed, even as he himself now sat. Then, come into the breathing of the sleeper. Breathe with him as one, until you half-slumber with him yourself, until you enter almost into the space of his dreams. Then, reach out with your heart and your mind, and wait for the trance to beckon.

It was at this stage that the other agents always fell short. They breathed, but no matter how they tried to match their breathing to the sleeper's, it was forced, and they never slipped into the dream-world that, past a certain point, opened itself to Insidius, calling to him. It seemed so clear, so close, a small step over a soft and nebulous threshold, allowing him to lose himself in the dream-thoughts of the sleeper.

The trick – this was the only difficult part – was to retain one's objective, one's plans. To avoid becoming one with the sleeper. He'd tried to explain it to that inapt idiot Practicalmattus, but he'd never grasped the concept of dream-whispering. It was a unity more intimate than the physical union of lover to lover, an understanding deeper than that of the rhetoricians of the Grecian universities. Its backbone was sympathy; sympathy and understanding and unity. In fact, if you weren't careful, sympathy for the sleeper would overtake you, drawn into his world as you were, and you'd be useless for this kind of work. This talent of his, his Mater had told him, was used among select of her ancestors' healers – well, technically _his_ ancestors, though her, although he preferred to call himself a Roman through and through and disown his barbarian heritage – among select of her ancestors' medicine men and shamans, those who had the gift from her African pagan gods, for healing. Insidius had a hunch that it wasn't really meant for the purpose he put it to, but he kept that doubt at the back of his mind. He tried to forget that his Mater would be turning in her grave if she learned he was using his gift for extracting secrets, instead of healing.

Healing. It almost sounded… tempting.

Insidius shook his head. Things were what they were. His Mater had wanted him to be a healer, but she now lay in the earth. Insidius was alone. He was a spy. He had his duty to perform.

Caius Insidius focused on slowing his breathing. It was hard with Obelix. The potion gave the big man's breathing a rhythmic cadence which, while sounding deceptively normal, was extremely efficient and extraordinarily hard to mimic. In… out… in… out.

The world softened, metamorphosed. It was no longer dark. This was Obelix's world, now.

Insidius blinked, stunned at the blurred edges, the sunshine, the bright colors, the _innocence_ of the world in which this grown man still lived. All was gloriously in the moment: sun and sky and lush greenery and water, beckoning heart-deep, calling to enfold his body and mind. _If mind it can be called!_ Insidius mocked, for he had caught himself falling, and righted his own mind with a lurch.

He looked further, and had to steady himself with thoughts of the Caesar he served and his loyalty to the Roman Empire, for he was overtaken by a love so deep and intense, in dreams, it threatened to unmake Insidius' own soul. A mother's love: _Mummy,_ a great mountain of a woman, but small in Obelix's sight: his 'dear little Mummy' still, though her hair was grey. His Dad, tall and corpulent as he, but loved with a deep, pure affection. Panacea, her beauty in his mind's eye pure and innocent, her blonde hair enfolding her like the wings of an angel. By all the gods, was there ever a man more childlike in his passions? His little dog, shining like a star of affection in the garden that was his heart – the druid, warm and bright in his robe of white, the villagers, set round like jewels in a sundial all of gold. All was joy and light and life, the few shadows cast here and there quickly dispelled by the boundless sunshine.

But where, then, was his supposed best friend? Insidius couldn't spot him anywhere among the circle of sparkling jewels. He looked right and left, feeling out along the tendrils of the man's love, the warmth that filled his soul. He wasn't there. But the intelligence had been incontrovertible, and he'd seen it with his own eyes! The link between the pair was undeniable, they lived in each other's pockets, inside each other's hearts…

 _Inside._ Insidius stopped looking about him, closed his eyes, and delved beneath the surface.

He was immediately caught, steadied, enfolded by love deeper than a mother's, brighter than all the sunshine in Obelix's world. Insidius gasped, in his dream-world, at the realization: Asterix the Gaul was the source of it. He was the warm earth that made the grass grow, the core on which Obelix's world rested.

In the inner heart of this world, earthy and warm yet transparent and transcending, Insidius looked about him, stunned. Naively, Insidius had thought that as Obelix's best friend, Asterix would be the crown jewel of villagers and family, shining alongside Obelix's parents and Panacea. But it was more visceral: this love ran far deeper than that. Asterix was Obelix's security, his bedrock. His life ran through Obelix's veins. His laughter was the buoyancy that lifted Obelix's spirit, his smile the sunshine that illuminated this dreamforest's sunlit world. You couldn't see Asterix in Obelix's mind, because he lived in Obelix's heart.

Without Asterix, that heart would split asunder. The sun would dim, the warmth grow cold… Insidius shuddered. The very grass would wither, in this forest bright with birds and flowers. There would be… a wasteland. Without his friend's love, there was nothing.

And destroying it was his mission.

It must be done. The trust placed in him by his Emperor would not allow for anything else. Only it was a shame, a crime, to destroy this sanctuary. But he must. And yet…

 _The pity of it, Caius. The pity of it!_

Before he could draw back, Caius Insidius whispered into Obelix's dreams. "Obelix," he said. It was more of a thought, more of a breath. But the ripple in the big man's soul told Insidius that it had reached him.

"What…?" In the dark, a deep voice echoed back to him.

"Obelix, listen to your conscience. Heed my call."

"My conscience?" Insidius watched as a cloud shadowed the sunshine in the pure, clear dreamforest of Obelix's soul. There was no place so innocent; none of the men's minds he had entered before had a tenth of this Gaul's purity and light. What man had any business being so unsullied, anyway? "I didn't know I had one."

"You have been acting as though you do not," Insidius forced steel into his tone, "which is why I have come to intervene."

He felt a chill wind pick up, rustling the leaves in the dreamforest. "What… But I haven't done anything."

"You are hurting Asterix."

"Hurting him? But I'd never hurt him!" The wind swirled, picking up into a gale, rustling the leaves and the grass. Fascinated, Insidius watched the currents of emotion: no righteous indignation, no self-defense, only cold fear for his friend. "How? What have I done?"

"It's more what you don't do. You don't spare a single thought for his safety. All you do is go on your merry way, never thinking of the risks to him. One of these days you'll get him killed." Insidius projected an image of Asterix, lying on his back, one arm across his middle, a sword buried in his heart.

Lightning flashed and thunder rolled. _I should have expected it,_ Insidius groaned inwardly. He had to get out of this dream-representation of Obelix's mental state, or he'd never get anywhere. Taking a deep breath, he turned things around, moving out of the dream-forest of the unconscious and climbing to an upper level, clambering into Obelix's consciousness, seeing through his eyes. He felt Obelix's fear. Good. Outwardly he said, "Why would he want to be your friend?"

Insidius felt it as Obelix shrank back from the voice of his 'conscience'. "What do you mean? He _is_ my friend."

"Ah, but for how much longer?" Insidius continued. "Look at him, and look at you. Asterix is intelligent, is he not?"

"Of course," responded Obelix. "I don't even follow what he's saying half the time…" He trailed off.

"Exactly. Why would he want to be burdened with a friend like you? Wouldn't he be better off being friends with someone as intelligent as he is, someone with his head for strategy, his cunning? Obelix, you're a boor. You eat all the time, everywhere. How many times has he taken you to task for not showing good manners?"

'There's a time and place for everything, Obelix,' Asterix said in Obelix's head. Obelix gulped.

"What about all the things you've broken? What about all the times you've got him into trouble?"

Obelix couldn't help thinking of the time he broke the nose off the Sphinx, the time he had drunk too much wine and got imprisoned in the Tower of Londinium, the time he had drunk a whole cauldron of potion and got Asterix into so much trouble… He hung his head.

Insidius rejoiced. The flood of memories was unleashed, and clearly he'd hit the right nerve. "When has HE done that kind of thing?"

On the forest plain they'd left behind, the storm raged. In their shared space, Insidius observed as Obelix thought: _Asterix never does that kind of thing. He doesn't lose his head, he stays focused on the mission._

"And what about the times you just plain turned on him and betrayed him?"

"I've never betrayed Asterix!"

"No?" Through his own consciousness, Insidius heard his own voice, smooth and sinuous in Obelix's ears. "I seem to remember him in a Roman camp, all alone, without potion, launching himself from a ballista to escape. Where were you?"

Obelix paled. He hadn't known of that… but, a ballista? The village had been attacked by ballistae… that was when he had cut Asterix dead because of that little girl Influenza…

"Do you know what happened then? No, you don't, because you never cared enough to ask. You ignored your best friend, so much so that he went into the Roman camp to reconnoiter all by himself – without potion."

Obelix's shock hit Caius like a thunderbolt. "W…what?"

"He was trapped, and ran. The Romans chased him. All alone, he ran through the camp, relying on his own wits to save him, since his closest friend was too busy sulking. He could have been captured and tortured or killed."

Obelix stared.

"He threw himself onto a catapult and slashed the rope with his own sword. He was slung out of the camp, flying through the air along with the great rock in the sling. He must have lain unconscious in the forest for hours. Did you find him? Did you carry him to his hut in your arms, did you nurse him back to health, did you sit vigil by his bedside, as he has done for you? Or did you leave him to lie on the forest floor alone, betrayed and friendless?"

Obelix felt cold, chilled all over. Asterix had been knocked unconscious? He'd lain hurt and alone in the forest? He'd been trapped in a Roman camp? While Obelix had been mooning about over Zaza and sulking? "He wasn't hurt, was he?" Obelix said desperately, overcome with an urge to roust Asterix out of bed _right now this minute_ and check to see if he was all right.

"Oh, _now_ you care. Yes, he's fine. That was long ago. He could have died back then, and you didn't care enough to ask. Years later, you ask? What kind of friend are you?"

"You're right," Obelix muttered. "I'm no kind of friend at all."

But Insidius was just getting started. He had more intelligence on this matter than he knew what to do with—and truth be told, Obelix deserved quite a bit of what he was saying.

"You can say that again. You think of nothing but your own pleasures, your own petty sulks, your own interests, no matter how trivial. Remember when you let him guard Whosemoralsarelastix's money all alone while you were busy guzzling boars at the banquet? You could have gone and given him something to eat yourself, let him know he wasn't alone, but you just forgot about him!"

"I…"

"You don't care about your friend! All you care about is stuffing your face. He might as well BE alone! That way he'd find a friend who actually was some use to him. Who cared enough to step away from gorging himself to keep him company as he stood guard all by himself in the night."

Obelix was crying by now. "Stop," he whispered.

"You didn't go to look for him in Spain. He fought a wild aurochs all alone. Did you know that, Gaul? No, you didn't. You took the little boy to his village and never spared a thought for your friend. You could have gone to search for him, but you didn't. What would you have done if they had brought you the news of his death?"

Shaking his head, Obelix just wept. "No," he muttered. "No."

"If it were only that you were faithless, that could be understood. But it's worse than that. You forget everything when there's food or a fight. You're nothing but a child, Obelix. Asterix needs a friend who is responsible, who does his duty. He doesn't need someone like you around."

"But he—he…"

"Hark at you, going 'he he he.' Asterix is kind, haven't you noticed? He's kind to children and dumb brutes like you. Face it, Obelix – you're nothing but a brainless lump of muscle. You must know, deep down inside you, how much weaker your intellect is than your friend." Insidius would normally never use information he'd only acquired a day ago, but this was priceless. "Didn't you depend on him at school? Would you even have passed your tests if it hadn't been for him?"

The pang that squeezed Obelix's heart shook even Insidius. "…no…"

"He defended you, didn't he? If it wasn't for your borrowed strength, from the potion, he might be defending you yet, and him a fraction of your size. You're not only stupid, you're weak. What do you have to offer Asterix?"

Obelix's mind-voice was wretched. "I'm—I'm all he's got."

"Yes, and can you imagine what a disaster that is for a man with a keen intellect and a refined sensibility? You must know he only spends time with you out of pity. Pity, and loneliness. The other villagers don't give him the time of day unless they want something from him. Do you really think if Asterix had a wife, or some friend intelligent enough to talk to him about something besides boars and Romans, he would waste his time on you? Poor Asterix, tied for life to a brute who can't understand him, can only nod Yes or No and bash Romans and think of his stomach. He must have told you that someday, only you willfully misremember it."

A memory rose in Obelix's head, this time after a fight at a health spa. 'This is what ancient Gaul is coming to. Bread and circuses. The Gaul in the street—huh! A fine specimen, I must say.' That was what Asterix had said. He began to tremble.

Insidius, feeling it, moved in for the kill. "Think of it! You, a brainless beast, boorish and brutish, breaking stones for a living. He, the village strategist and warrior, at home in the highest palace or the poorest hut, his cunning and skill earning the respect of Caesar himself. Would it not be kinder of you to draw away from him, to leave him an opportunity to find a friend who would appreciate him more?"

"I do appreciate him!" Obelix cried plaintively.

"Of course you do. Who would not? He is worthy of it. But you? You're his shadow. A makeweight. Without the potion, you would cease to be of any use to him."

"I…" Obelix choked. "I… At least I can guard him."

"How many times has he been captured – or hurt – when you were supposed to be guarding him, and chose instead to run after food or renounce his friendship over a woman?"

Obelix's heartache filled the dream-space. He knew the answer: Far, far too many.

"You're nothing but a fair-weather friend. Obelix of Gaul, you are nothing. Worse, you are a burden. If you had any decency, you would quit the village here and now, and leave him the space to find a friend who will understand his conversation, think of something besides eating, not embarrass him in front of noble company, and not throw him away for a pretty face!"

Obelix was sobbing openly by now. "But… I can still… I could still fight… protect him?"

Insidius scoffed. "A gourd of magic potion is a far, far better friend to him than you ever were."

That was enough. Insidius knew when to retreat. Silently he slipped down the stairs and made good his escape, stopping only to lift the towel soaked in sleeping-potion off the still-drowsing dog. By the time Obelix woke, his pillow drenched with tears, Insidius had vanished like a ghost into the night.


	4. Chapter 4

"What's the matter with you, Obelix?"

There was no denying it: Asterix was worried. Obelix wasn't himself at all. He kept staring off into space, he stood there as a Roman patrol walked past… He hoped it was just that Obelix was in love again. Who it could be was a mystery, but Asterix infinitely preferred that to the other option: that his friend had been taken ill somehow, or that… He pushed the thought away, but it returned, relentless. There was a reason why not everyone in the village was dunked in the magic potion at birth. Nobody knew what could happen in the long term. And, while everything so far seemed positive, Asterix knew that Getafix held a secret fear that one day, Obelix would suffer for it, that what had seemed a blessing might turn into a curse.

"Obelix?" Asterix asked again. Such unhappiness in his friend's eyes Asterix had never seen. "Obelix, please tell me what's wrong."

From above, Insidius watched. While the pair often went hunting in the forest, he'd noticed that if there were confidences to be shared, there was one spot that they preferred – the same place where they had met before. So here he was, watching.

"I…" Obelix burst into tears. Asterix stood beside him and patted his hand. "I had… I just had a bad dream, that's all."

 _No, no, no, no, no!_ Insidius clenched his fists in horror. He couldn't afford to have Asterix reassure his friend, and undo all his hard work! It would be impossible to make him believe it if they shared that confidence. Thinking fast, he pulled a coin from his pocket – a pebble would have been better, but they didn't grow on trees – and tossed it into the bushes at the left of the clearing, on Asterix's side.

The wings on the warrior's helmet shot up, his head rising, on alert. "Something's over there. Hang on a moment."

Asterix darted out of sight towards the sound, heading into the bushes. As soon as Insidius judged he was out of earshot, he whispered, making his voice as spectral as possible, "Speak not of your nightmares, Obelix."

Obelix jerked, looking wildly about him. The little dog whimpered. "Wh—"

"To betray your conscience," Insidius intoned, "is to betray the gods."

A rustling of bushes heralded Asterix's return. "I found this," he said, frowning seriously and holding up the sestertius Insidius had thrown. "There was a high-ranking Roman here, a centurion or higher."

"How…" Obelix swallowed. Insidius noted with some satisfaction that the big Gaul's mouth was dry. "How can you tell?"

Asterix turned the coin over in his hands. "Rank-and-file don't have enough sestertii to be tossing them about. Not even optiones, those get paid in denarii. There's something going on here." He looked up at Obelix. "The coin was warm, too. Hasn't been lying around for long. Someone was here recently."

Insidius raised his eyebrows. Perhaps his 'conscience' persona wasn't as far off the mark as he'd thought: clearly Asterix _was_ far too bright to be keeping company with Obelix. Well, at least he'd caused the little warrior to forget about investigating his friend's…

"…dream, Obelix?"

"Oh, nothing," Obelix said unconvincingly.

Aserix came closer to Obelix, his gaze gentle and filled with sympathy. "You can tell me, Obelix," he said softly. The love that filled Asterix's warm eyes made Insidius shudder. He had to strongly push away the feeling that he was committing a sin.

Obelix rallied, and about time too. "I remember it was a bad dream, but I don't remember what it was."

Asterix stood, and flung his arms about Obelix's neck as the big man sat under the tree. "Never mind, then. It was only a dream. We're together and we have our health, and Dogmatix is here with us, and our friends are all alive and well, and we're going to have some nice boars for dinner, so come on!"

It was time to step up the pace. Insidius hadn't counted on how careful Asterix was of his fat friend's welfare. The sooner he split them up, the better. Another moonrise and another sleeping-draught for the dog, and he stood at Obelix's bedside once again.

His deep breaths immediately took him into a world that was different. Autumn had come to the forest of Obelix's soul. The trees were grey, the sky slate-dark and impassive. The leaves had withered. Their stalks and the roots of the grass were still tinged with green, but the atmosphere was wintry. Insidius breathed deep, feeling the soul-chill invade him. He almost felt regretful at his victory.

Curious, he delved beneath the ground's surface. Almost immediately, he felt a barrier – the warm security of Asterix's presence in Obelix's heart was walled off. Reaching out, he could sense the potential: if the barrier was taken down, the warmth could return once more. But Obelix had carefully closed off his emotions from his friend's. Here and there, though, the glass-like wall was weak in places, letting warmth seep through. Insidius steeled himself. It was his job to block the warmth entirely.

"You were wise not to speak to Asterix," he murmured.

A chill wind shuddered through the branches. "I..." Obelix didn't quite speak. Insidius wasn't fully able to describe how he could make out the man's words. "I could… I don't want to be bad for him. I could change. I mean, the things you told me about, I could change them."

Insidius snorted. Even though he felt the love that lay at the core of this man's being, he concentrated on judging Obelix as harshly as possible. "You don't even try to change. Asterix is the first to apologize, the first to admit he might be in the wrong. You remain pigheaded and stubborn. You abandon Asterix."

"I don't!"

"How many times have you fought? How many times has he run after you and apologized?"

"I… I… I apologize too," Obelix murmured. Insidius was in his head now. Obelix felt lost, unmoored. "I… I tell him I'm sorry…"

"And well you may. You've always been in the wrong. Asterix never starts out by being unjust, does he?"

"He starts shouting first! He's done it lots of times!"

"And can you deny that every time it's because you've eaten something you shouldn't, or done something you shouldn't?"

Obelix wanted to deny it. His head spun. He seemed unable to think, to breathe.

"Name one reason – other than strength – that he would want to be friends with you. Name one useful thing you do."

Obelix's mouth hung open. Finally he stammered, "I… make menhirs."

"Oh! He makes menhirs! And what use, pray tell, are menhirs?"

"They… They're decorative?"

"Hark at you! Do you even believe yourself? The villagers swap them for things because they pity you! They have no use for unserviceable rocks!"

"But—but my father made them!"

Every ounce of venom Insidius possessed was in his next words. "Your father outgrew these stupid pursuits and opened a shop. He left his stupid son to mind his stupid quarry, because breaking stones is about the only thing his half-wit son was good for."

"Why are you telling me this?" choked Obelix.

"Because it's true. See yourself as you are, Gaul! Isn't it time to abandon the vain delusion that you're any kind of suitable best friend for Asterix? Let him find someone more worthy of his time. He drags himself down to your level every time he has a conversation with you. He helps you understand everything. He smoothes over your faux pas. He drags you along when you've made a pig of yourself. You are nothing but a great useless lump of fat."

"I am not—"

"Hah!" Insidius let out a derisive snort. "Even here, in your dreams, will you hide from your conscience? Obelix, you _are_ fat. That in itself is not so bad. Many in the village are fat: the chief, the fishmonger, others. But you are abnormally fat. You are monstrous. You can lie to yourself, but you cannot lie to your image in the water. Obelix, you are a monster."

Caius had to shield himself hard as he said the words. He had said them to no man before, for they were the words Caius' own playmates had taunted him with, when they found out about his gift. _Monster, monster. Numidian ruled by forest gods. Barbarian. Black face, black soul. Freak. Monster._

His classmates had called him a monster, made him feel as small as he was making Obelix feel now. His Mater had comforted him, told him he was different, that he was remarkable. He had loved his Mater more than life itself, found life and love and his moral compass in her eyes. Well, his Mater was dead. He sealed his heart in steel.

"Yes, a monster. You must know it, but you hide it from yourself, because who would wish to admit it? Have you not heard anyone calling you a monster before?"

"Y—yes, but…" Obelix shuddered, remembering Bionix after he'd drunk the whole cauldron of magic potion: frustrated at not being able to hit him anymore, the playground bully had called him a monster. But his best friend had defended him. Insidius was privy to his thoughts now, Obelix letting his 'conscience' into all his memories. "Asterix told me I wasn't a monster," said Obelix, hearing his own voice shake.

"Ah, Asterix, always standing up for you," his conscience said sadly. "Such a good friend to one who never deserved him. His good nature makes him blind to your faults. They spoke truth, Obelix..." What had the children said to Insidius long ago? He recalled the words that had hurt him the most deeply, though he had spent his life trying to forget them. "…You are a monstrosity, who ought to be on display in some traveling circus that parades the bizarre and the freakish for the entertainment of normal folk."

"But—but…" Deeply suspecting that his conscience spoke truth, Obelix yet racked his brain for a response. "The Belgians are strong! They're as big as me! The—the Goths, too! And the Gauls in the village of Chief Whosemoralsarelastix…"

"But they have a brain; they care about things besides eating and bashing Romans." Insidius pushed steel into his voice. "Have you no shame, to delude yourself so? Asterix would be far better off with Getafix as a friend: they understand each other. They converse of complex stratagems while you merely blink and scratch your vacant head. How many times have you failed to comprehend their plans, nay, possibly ruined them, with your loud noises and indiscreet actions?"

Obelix began to sob. Far, far too many. "I…" He gulped. Since this was his conscience, he had no recourse but to tell the whole truth. "I get angry with Asterix sometimes for not explaining things to me."

"Yes." Insidius, as his conscience, filled his tone with disgust. "Because you are so slow and stupid that by the time he _did_ get it through your sluggish brain, saturated in the lard of the boars you guzzle, he would be killed, the adventure over."

"I… I let him give the orders…"

"Hark at him!" his conscience cried. "You say it as though you were doing him a favor. _'Let_ him?' By Juno, you ought to thank him on your knees every morning that he allows you to associate with him. 'Let him!' Now I've heard everything! It is he who 'lets you' accompany him, when any other of the villagers, the blacksmith or even the bard, would be better suited and understand him well enough!"

"He… He wants me to come with him," said Obelix, and his voice was very small.

"Who else _could?_ The druid and bard are mainstays of the village. The blacksmith is busy with a useful occupation. The fishmonger will not leave his home and family. The farmer tills the land; the potter makes pots, the guard stands at the gate. All of them produce useful things, and have wives and children. Only you have no family, because no woman would ever marry a Gaul like you: you produce nothing but the sweat that pours off you while the sun is roasting you in your own fat!"

"I… No, I…"

Insidius made a sound like spitting. "You are too homely and disgusting for a woman to ever look at you! Running about smashing stones that are no use to anyone, you are no loss to the village while you are gone. Asterix takes pity on you, that is all, bringing you with him on his travels because he hopes it will broaden your mind, enrich your knowledge and experience. And what do you do? Mock the peoples you meet, and spend your time crying for food like a child. Asterix would be much lighter on his missions relived of your burden."

Obelix felt his world falling out from under him. Desperately, he searched for something, anything, to catch hold of as he fell into darkness and the horror of seeing himself as he really was. "I—I saved his life!" he cried, triumphant. "When the Romans were about to throw him into the sea!" That was at least one useful thing he had done in his miserable life.

"And he was in danger why?"

Obelix's heart sank. He knew why.

"I'm waiting for an answer."

"He… He was rescuing me."

"And why was he rescuing you?"

"Be… because…"

"Go on, go on!"

"Because I was a child."

"And why were you a child?"

"Because of the potion Getafix gave me."

"I see. And that was for what?"

Obelix could hardly speak for crying. He felt as though there were something burning in his chest, but cold at the same time. It felt like what he imagined the opposite of the potion must feel like. "Be… because I drank the magic potion… I drank a whole cauldron of it," the words burst out in a flood, "even though Getafix told me not to but it smelled so good and I couldn't resist and it turned me to stone and Asterix took care of me and I'm sorry!"

"You're _sorry."_ His conscience's voice was glacial.

Obelix couldn't hold back his guilt any more. "He was only in danger because of me, he was only hit with the cannonball because of me, he was only on that ship in the first place because of me, because I was so greedy! I'm a fat, greedy pig!" He burst out sobbing. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

"What good would 'sorry' have done his corpse?"

Obelix shuddered, still sobbing. "Don't say that."

"I _will_ say it, because you almost caused it. But for divine intervention, your friend Asterix would now be dead, devoured by the sharks, because of his desire to save you. He _will_ always go into danger to save you, Obelix. He loves you that much. And that is why you owe it to him to leave his life, now, as soon as you can, for his own sake."

"Leave Asterix?"

"Before he leaves you, by death."

"No," Obelix choked. "I won't do silly things again. Don't make me leave him."

"Are you so selfish as to cling to him when you only bring him pain?"

"He… We have fun together."

"Of course you do. Asterix could have fun with anyone. He is a bright soul, a vibrant spirit. Would you leave such a one shackled to you for life, merely because of an accident of birth and proximity?"

"Prox…?"

"It means nearness. And there, right there, is proof of your ignorance. What do you know, Obelix of Gaul? You were ever the weakest at lessons. Asterix had to help you always. He has spent his entire life supporting you—him, with his fragile constitution. He could have supported you better if you were a more reasonable size, but you grew enormous because of your greed, starting with the potion. He is a kind person; he would never abandon you. But you never think of his benefit. You think only of food and fighting. You do nothing but destroy his concentration, whining for what you want like some spoilt child. He has to babysit you on missions. Babysit you, do you hear me? You are nothing but an overgrown infant. One day you'll get him killed, Obelix. For his sake, if you love him, you must leave him before that happens."

Shaking and crying, Obelix slid to the ground, the forest floor hard with frost. "You're right," he sobbed.

"Listen to you! Bawling like a baby!" Insidius didn't bother to hide his scorn. "Have you any idea what he has to go through, supporting you when you bawl like that at a drop of a hat? You sound like an elephant giving birth. Control yourself."

"But—but…" Obelix sobbed harder. "I—I can't!"

"More proof of your weak will. More proof of your uselessness. A man with no self-control is a man who endangers others."

There was nothing but cold in Obelix now. "I mean well…"

"You mean well! You mean well! So did the faithful pet bear in the old legend, watching over its sleeping master, when it saw a fly on his nose, and smashed it with a rock, killing him. That is what you are, Obelix. As long as you remain stupid and thoughtless, flailing about with your animal desires, you will ruin him and continue to ruin him. You would ruin anyone with your incompetence."

"I…"

"You act like a Roman when you're supposed to be acting like a Gaul, you act like a Gaul when you're pretending to be a Roman. You whistle and try to look innocent while your partner is robbing a bank, and actually imagine you still look innocent. How stupid are you, man? Is there nothing so ridiculous, so asinine that it will make you THINK, and not do it? You live in the moment, like a child. The only problem is, you're a child who weighs a thousand _libras,_ and you've condemned Asterix to being your parent. Why do you think he has never found a mate? It's because he's lumbered with you."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"If you're sorry, then _show_ it. Set him free."

Insidius was unprepared for the storm that whipped up in Obelix's head. _Leave Asterix… never see him laugh again… never hunt boar with him or share a laugh or fight and make up or share confidences or sit watching the sunset with him or have silly bets or…_ "Is—isn't there another way? I could try and improve…"

"Improve? A clever man can act stupid by subtracting from his intelligence; an ascetic can play the part of a glutton by subtracting from his self-control. But you, lacking the fundament, how can you subtract from what is not there?"

"I know all that, but I can't leave him!" Obelix cried.

"Will you remain weak, clinging to Asterix until you destroy him," intoned his conscience, "or will you do the right thing, and leave him?"

Memories and bright scenes flashed through Obelix's mind, too many to count. Going on adventures, falling over laughing so hard they had to lean on each other for support. Boar hunts, chatting and joking on sunlit mornings, curling up by the fireside and telling stories on cold winter nights. He thought of Asterix, sitting maybe by Getafix's fireside. Hunting boar by himself. Going on missions alone. His heart clenched at that. Asterix couldn't be alone. But his conscience had shown him, in so many ways, that he was no protector – he was a danger to Asterix. Maybe Dogmatix could stay with Asterix, but Obelix? He had to go.

"I… I'll go." Obelix realized there were tears running down his face, although his voice was steady. "I'll do it. But how?"

"Hmm." His conscience drummed his 'fingers' thoughtfully. "If he thinks you are going because you have finally realized your uselessness, Asterix will stop you, out of pity. He is a kind-hearted Gaul, he will sacrifice anything to spare another grief. The only way you will get Asterix to allow you to leave without pursuit is if you convince him that you are tired of his friendship, that you wish to be rid of him."

Obelix stopped crying for an instant from sheer shock. _"What?"_

"If you leave, he would follow, am I not right?"

"Yes. We're friends."

"Yes, the gods only know why. He is truly possessed of a great heart to give his time to one such as you. In any case, when would he _not_ follow?"

"I… I can't think of any…"

"Jupiter save me from your stupidity! He would not follow if he thought you would benefit from being alone, that it was what you wanted."

"He'd n—never believe that."

"Unfortunately, that's true. He knows too well that you are nothing without him."

Obelix nodded forlornly, although he couldn't stop sobbing. "I—I am. Without Asterix… how could I… I'd be… like an empty gourd."

"Hmm. True enough. Doesn't solve our problem, though. Hmm," said Insidius again, as though thinking aloud. He had all this planned, of course; he just needed to get Obelix to fully go along. "Let me think of this. You be sure to not tell Asterix a thing. I'll visit your dreams tomorrow."


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, Insidius waited in the forest, but Asterix and Obelix didn't show up. He wondered why. Stealthily, he moved to the trees around the village, and climbed to get a good vantage point.

Obelix of Gaul was in his quarry, tapping away at his stones. He paused periodically, and sighed. The small dog at his side – loyal, even if he was a ridiculously-sized pet for such a mastodon – whined, trying to get his attention. Finally, Obelix gave up the pretense of working altogether, and slumped with his back against the stone cliff. He passed a hand over his eyes. Caius couldn't hear him at this distance, but his face crumpled and his huge stomach started to convulse in short, gasping breaths. He was sobbing.

A tinny, distant voice echoed from the village, amplified by the rocks and through the forest air. "Obelix! O, Obelix!"

Obelix leapt up, whirling to his stones and wiping a hand over his eyes. Clearly, Caius as his 'conscience' had succeeded in scaring the living daylights out of him. That was good, it meant he was doing his job well.

His train of thought was thankfully cut off when the little Gaul, Asterix, appeared at the entrance to the quarry. By this time, Obelix was already industriously tapping away. Asterix smiled and gestured, clearly inviting him somewhere. Obelix stared at his menhir, only lowering his hammer and chisel for the few seconds it took to speak to Asterix, then raised them to tap at the stone again. Asterix repeated his invitation, using the same hand-gestures. Caius had excellent eyesight, and could see that there was worry in the little Gaul's smiling eyes. Obelix shook his head, though, clearly visible at this distance, gesturing at his menhirs. Asterix stood for a while, seemingly inwardly debating whether to press his friend for answers, but in the end he turned and left.

When he was sure Asterix had left, Obelix slumped, back bowed so low his knuckles almost brushed the ground. Then he sat on the rocky quarry floor and raised his hands to his face, shaking.

Caius watched him, trying to be impassive. There was certainly nothing to pity or sympathize with about this big fat man crying in secret. Fat people didn't even have emotions, everyone knew that, they were just gluttonous, slothful burdens on those around them. _Just as they said Numidians had hearts as black as their faces…_ There was nothing to see here. Nothing to sympathize with. Nothing. Nothing at all.

Caius pushed down the pang in his chest. _Nothing._

* * *

That night, Obelix opened his mind without Insidius even trying. It was good, because more and more, Insidius was feeling that this service to Caesar was killing something true, that it was _wrong_ in a way he had never felt before. He pushed aside the treasonous thought. He was here to serve his Emperor, not to serve petty whims.

"Obelix, here is an idea to separate you safely from Asterix." To Hades with suspense: he blurted it out. "What if a woman showed up and you left the village with her?"

Obelix raised his head, his tears surprised into drying. "I wouldn't leave Asterix for a woman," he said indignantly.

"More to the point," Caius jeered, remembering his childhood taunts, "no woman would have you. But," he made his tone bright and practical, "it would be the only thing that let Asterix believe you had betrayed him."

"But I wouldn't betray him for a girl!"

"No?" Insidius felt strange seeing the memory from Roman records and from Obelix's memory simultaneously. What was stranger was that he felt genuinely indignant about it. "What about the innkeeper's daughter?"

Obelix chilled. He hadn't… No, but he had. He had stalked off and abandoned Asterix right when the village was divided and Asterix had needed his support.

"How could you forget that? How could you forget the moment you walked away from him and left him to face the Romans alone? He lay unconscious in the forest for an hour, and where were you? Nursing your foolish pride." Insidius was surprised he was actually feeling some righteous indignation on the small warrior's behalf. It felt good to hurt this big man for having so selfishly ignored his more intelligent friend. He fanned his hurt into a flame. "You are nothing, Obelix. Nothing, nothing, nothing. You are a great fat brute, a forgetful fool."

"He was unconscious for an hour?" choked Obelix.

Insidius couldn't really know for sure, but it was his best guess based on the Roman intelligence and the timing of the attacks. For answer, he projected an image of Asterix lying unconscious in the forest.

"No! Asterix!"

Obelix's sharp pain at the sight echoed through Caius' own heart, making him ache for an instant with borrowed love for Asterix. He shook it off sternly. Gathering his wits about him, he thought for a moment back to the childhood taunts leveled at him by his schoolmates. _Monster, ape, go back to the forests with your barbarian mother._ "By rights you should have no association with human beings at all, only live in the forest with the animals, and make your stupid blunders where you cannot be seen. Forgetting is human, but in your hands, it is a crime, for you forget things that hurt people. You have hurt Asterix, time and time again. There is no reason he should stay with you, no reason he should want to know you."

"B…but he…"

"He stays, but it will ruin him. The best thing for anyone is to run as far from you as possible. No, no, there is only one thing for it: find some woman who would play the part of a Helen of Troy, and take you from this village to what Asterix will think is a better life."

"But… where would I find someone who'd do that?"

"Hmm, true, it is indeed implausible that any woman would look twice at one such as you. Still, I pity you. The conscience has ties to the spirit world, and perhaps with the assistance of Moccus, some female can be found who would play this distasteful part."

"Moccus?" Obelix's voice was hushed. "God of the menhirs of Armorica?"

"Yes."

"He'd… do that for me?"

"Hah! Not for you, you bloated great barrel of lard. For Asterix. To leave him at liberty to seek his true destiny and not be lumbered with you."

Obelix woke with tears on his cheeks.

* * *

The great Roman tragedienne and operatic diva Latraviata lowered the scroll of parchment, looking over it at the messenger. "A summons from Caesar himself?"

"From his envoy, noble lady." The messenger sneered inwardly: actresses were nothing but whores, everyone knew that. Still, he had his orders to speak to her with respect.

"Concerning what?"

"I'm not at liberty to disclose, noble lady. All will be explained to you at the conclusion of your journey. There is a conveyance awaiting you. As soon as you pack, we can start immediately."

Latraviata stared. "Start imm… For _Gaul?_ But— I have a performance tomorrow…"

"It is a matter of utmost importance to Caesar himself. He will see to it that you are adequately compensated."

Latraviata huffed. Money wasn't much compared to playing Hecuba on a stage like this, but perhaps her connections with Julius Caesar would get her another part. It wasn't the wisest thing to refuse an Imperial command, in any case. And there were only a handful of people she knew in Gaul, and her curiosity was piqued… "Let me gather my things."

* * *

"It is done. A woman has been found."

Obelix shuddered all over. "What for? To… to marry me? I don't think I'm the marrying kind, and…"

"Not to marry you, you great oaf! Merely to play the part. She will appear in your life tomorrow. I shall send her to your village. Just be obedient to her, and ask no questions."

* * *

(Note: My depiction of Latraviata from here on out is indebted to and inspired by CrazyBeaver's magnificent view of her in _Asterix and the Bet of the Gods,_ here on FFN, and also translated here on FFN as _Asterix et le Pari des Dieux –_ the most wonderful read, in any language.)


	6. Chapter 6

There were no thunderbolts, no lightning crashing down from the sky when Asterix's world fell apart; but then again, it was only in the theatre that you expected them.

They'd been sitting outside Asterix's house, having lunch, when Obelix had suddenly stood bolt upright, staring at something behind Asterix's back.

Asterix whirled. What could make Obelix look like that? "Obelix? Are you all—"

A tall Roman woman shot past Asterix like the thunderbolt that would have been appropriate for her coming. Purple draperies fluttering behind her, she flung herself at Obelix, landing in his arms with an audible _thud._ "O Obelix, _anima mia, vita mia!_ " she cried in the lilting tones Asterix remembered so well, peppering his big friend's cheeks with kisses. "I just couldn't stay away from you any longer!"

Asterix took a step towards them, although Gaulish gallantry dictated he should make himself scarce. "We had no idea you were coming," he said, unable to help the ungallant suspicion that had crept into his voice. Was this, then, the cause of Obelix's wandering mind and distracted air?

"But I sent him a letter!" Latraviata murmured, still running her hands through Obelix's hair. She looked sidelong at Asterix, her expression all sincerity, while Obelix just stared, standing there for all the world like one of his menhirs.

"I never saw it." Asterix didn't feel right. But it _would_ explain the odd behavior he'd seen from Obelix of late… But Obelix hadn't ever shown him the letter… And Postaldistrix hadn't mentioned it…

Latraviata, with a familiarity that Asterix found faintly embarrassing, plunged her hand into his motionless friend's pocket. "Here," she said, producing a crushed and folded piece of parchment. Asterix stared. He'd known Latraviata was wealthy, but to send love letters on parchment… She thrust the letter into his hands like Exhibit A and recommenced pawing at Obelix.

 _Dear Obelix,_ Asterix read, _I can't stop thinking about you. I was a fool to ignore your proposal of marriage. I can't live without you. I'm coming, my darling._

"How long have you had this?" Asterix found himself asking Obelix.

"Wrstksft," Obelix responded. Asterix's shoulders slumped as he handed the scroll back to Latraviata.

"He kept it from you? You mean you didn't know I was coming?" Latraviata's eyes were wide and round, the picture of shock. "I'm so sorry!"

"It's all right." Asterix elbowed Obelix in the stomach. "He was probably lost for words."

And he stared as Obelix just bowed his head and allowed Latraviata to lead him away, babbling about wedding plans.

* * *

"WHO did WHAT?"

"Don't stare like that, 'Pedimenta dear, it's not dignified." For once, Vitalstatistix had the freshest and newest village gossip – at least the gossip related to the war between the sexes, which was the gossip that most interested the village ladies – and he was rather relishing the uncommon moment. "Latraviata is in love with Obelix, and wants him to go to Rome with her."

"Latraviata, that Roman actress who came to the village impersonating Panacea?"

"That's right."

Impedimenta's needlepoint lay by her side by now, forgotten. "The one who nothing was good enough for?"

"Really, my dear, what atrocious grammar. Yes, that's the one…"

* * *

In Geriatrix's hut, the village elder was getting much the same reaction from his wife. The tall woman turned on him, eyes blazing. "You don't mean to tell me he's going to marry that—that hussy!"

"Well, my poppet, love does strange things to men."

"Walking around as though she belonged here! How dare she!"

Geriatrix smiled. "There's no need to be jealous, my love. I only have eyes for you."

His wife glared at him. "I'd like to know who she thinks she is."

* * *

Fulliautomatix's wife scowled at her husband, eyes narrowed. "And she wants to marry _Obelix? Our_ Obelix?"

Fulliautomatix grinned. "It's not that unusual, Ferra."

"But I thought she fancied Asterix?"

Fulliautomatix winked. "Some women prefer brains, and some prefer," he chuckled, "brawn."

"Don't tell _me_ what women prefer." Ferra had stood up by now, and started pacing the confines of the hut. "And is he going to go with her?" She stopped, turning to glare at her husband as though it was somehow his fault. "Leave the village for a woman? And a Roman woman, at that?"

Although he was maybe three times his wife's height, Fulliautomatix cringed. "He's free to…"

"Free! Ha! I'll give him free!"

* * *

Back at the chief's hut, Vitalstatistix was facing a similar storm. Impedimenta had worked herself into a fine fury. "And what about Asterix? And our village? Is he just going to waltz off? At least Astronomix and Sarsaparilla had the decency to get married here in the village, and leave _together!"_

"'Pedimenta…"

The Chief's wife drew herself up to her full height. "I'll have a thing or two to say to Obelix! You mark my words!"

* * *

Asterix was sure he must be dreaming.

Only a day ago, he had been worrying about Obelix's pensive mood. Now, like a whirlwind, their old friend and sometime nemesis, Latraviata, had descended upon the village in a coach and four, proclaiming her undying love for his best friend. And said best friend was seriously contemplating chucking it all and going to Rome with her.

It had to be a dream.

"I don't like this," Getafix said _sotto voce_ to Asterix, later that afternoon. The news had spread around the village like wildfire. It was so unexpected that everyone was in a tizzy, and Asterix hadn't even had a chance to find out how the rest of the villagers felt about it. To tell the truth, he was a little uneasy about it himself: it didn't _seem_ to be a plot, but it wasn't as if Latraviata hadn't played them false before.

Asterix hated himself for his own suspicion, though. Being sceptical of Latraviata's intentions was as good as saying that Obelix didn't deserve the love of a good woman, or that any woman who showed an interest in Obelix had to be a part of some plot. And that, Asterix did _not_ believe. Obelix was the most loyal friend anyone could have. He loved truly and deeply and he'd follow you to the ends of the earth. Once he gave you his heart, he gave it for life. Any woman would be glad to have him…

"How dare you!"

Asterix and Getafix's heads snapped up in unison, to see Mrs. Geriatrix approaching Latraviata. The actress was gliding in from the opposite end of the village square, Obelix in tow. "How dare you take away one of our own! You—you Roman hussy!"

Although they were the same height, the Roman diva looked down at the Gaulish beauty with aplomb, and made no reply. She took Obelix's arm. "Coming, darling?"

Obelix, who appeared to be in a daze, linked his arm through hers, and they took a few paces in the direction of his hut. Asterix and Getafix watched as a fish whizzed through the air and caught the happy couple in the back of the head.

"WHO THREW THAT FISH?" Obelix whirled, brandishing the offending object by the tail – a mullet, by the looks of it. Mrs Geriatrix stood with her arms defiantly folded, but it was Unhygienix who answered.

"You mullet over and you'll know who threw it! That wedding of yours stinks to high heaven! Coming to winkle you out of the village, is she? Shame on you, falling for her act, hook, line and sinker! OUCH!" Unhygienix yelled as the fish returned to him, hitting him in the nose with a resounding SPLATCH.

From his vantage point at his anvil, Fulliautomatix laughed, becoming the next recipient of the fish. From there, the village plunged into a free-for-all fish fight, the menfolk piling up, and the women running out of their houses to join in where Bacteria had somehow gotten into a fight with Mrs. Geriatrix. Only Latraviata stood aloof, one hand on her canted hip in the pose of a classical Roman statue, watching her future husband battering the village fishmonger with the already battered mullet—presumably to show him his plaice.

"BOYS! BOYS!" The Chief came running on his shield, expertly ducking a fish flying out of the fracas. He stood with some dignity, or as much dignity as you can show while dodging flying fish. "Stop it at ONCE!"

"You stay out of it!" snapped his wife, from somewhere underneath a large village woman.

"Yeah, shut up!" yelled somebody else.

"GET DOWN OFF THAT SHIELD IF YOU'RE A MAN!" Geriatrix shouted.

But for once, Vitalstatistix ignored the baiting. "WE HAVE GUESTS!"

The fight subsided somewhat. "Guests?!" Geriatrix tumbled out of the melee, brandishing his stick and disentangling Baltix's hand from his mouth. "Do you mean this Roman foreigner," he gestured to Latraviata, seemingly immune to her charms, "here to break up the village?"

"That strumpet!" snapped Mrs Geriatrix, her hair messed and blouse askew.

"Coming here all the way from Rome!" Impedimenta struggled up from between two large ladies. "As if Gaulish girls weren't good enough."

"You're not going to stand for it as Chief, are you?!" Unhygienix added, climbing down off three or four villagers.

"It would be an act of treason!" said Fulliautomatix, drawing himself up to his full height and crossing his arms over his chest. Vitalstatistix looked from one of the villagers to the other.

"Why _shouldn't_ Obelix marry who he pleases?"

All eyes turned to the voice that had spoken. The villagers parted to reveal Asterix, arms spread wide, head high.

"But she's a foreigner…" Unhygienix ventured.

Asterix took a step forward, tones ringing and clear. "Shame on you all! Is this our Gaulish gallantry, standing in the way of a woman who's come all the way from Rome to be with the man she loves?"

Some of the men were looking ashamed. Getafix was frowning as Asterix spoke, but made no move to undermine him. "But he's going to leave the village…" Fulliautomatix said sheepishly.

"So did my parents! So did _his,_ for that matter!" Asterix gestured to Obelix, who lay blinking up at him from underneath a pile of villagers. "So did Panacea when _she_ got married. Everyone's free to leave. Our village is the last bastion of freedom in Gaul. The last thing it should ever be is a prison!"

"Asterix is right," boomed Vitalstatistix. "Be worthy of your Gaulish heritage and welcome our guest, here to become a Gaul by marriage!"

There was a long pause. Finally, Impedimenta struggled the rest of the way out from underneath the other women, and tottered over to Latraviata, holding out a hand. "I'm sure you're very welcome to become a Gaul by marriage, my dear."

The picture of theatrical grace, Latraviata took Impedimenta's proffered hand and sank to one knee, just coming eye-to-eye with the other woman by virtue of her height. She bowed her head, as befitted the respect due a chief's wife. "Your magnanimity knows no bounds," she murmured. "Our home in Rome will always be honored to receive your visits."

Impedimenta's eyes widened and she shook Latraviata's hand gingerly, as though she might explode at any minute. Another woman came up behind her. "I hear you work in the theater," she said hesitantly.

The actress' smile lit up her face. "You and yours will have a front-row seat in all the theaters of Rome. You have but to ask—we shall be family by marriage henceforth, after all."

By ones and twos, the village women came over to welcome the newcomer. The men disentangled themselves and adjusted their clothing. Asterix looked on, forcing himself to keep a smile on his face as the village welcomed Latraviata into it, and the men shook a stunned Obelix by the hand. He shot a glance at Vitalstatistix; it wasn't often the village chief rose above petty rivalries, but Asterix was deeply grateful he had chosen this moment to do so.

Grateful, even though Asterix's world was falling apart.


	7. Chapter 7

Like a statue, Asterix stood there, smiling, until everyone had announced their good wishes; stood there while everyone congratulated Obelix, and stood there while they planned a banquet to see the happy couple off. Seeing what appeared like the whole village crowding round Obelix and Latraviata, he retreated. One step, then another, until he was clear of the crowd.

"Not easy, is it," said a voice at his back.

Asterix blinked. "Oh, hullo, Druid Getafix."

"Do you think he's really going to go for good?"

"If that's what makes him happy…" Asterix trailed off.

Getafix drew in a deep breath. Asterix looked over at him, expecting him to say something. Instead, his old friend put an arm round him, and the two of them stood watching the couple as they were congratulated.

As the last of the villagers walked away, Obelix's head was in a whirl. He wasn't even sure what had happened. Latraviata was steering, and all he could do was hold on. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Asterix, standing with Getafix, looking lost, leaning a little into the druid's supporting arm. Obelix wanted to hug him tight. Instead, he let Latraviata pull him away.

* * *

The actress led him to a shady, secluded corner behind his hut. Obelix followed blindly, waiting until she let go of his hand. The moment they were definitely out of sight, she sighed, visibly deflating as the mask of grace dropped. She collapsed onto a menhir that lay on its side and slumped backwards against the tree behind her, perfectly-coiffed head coming to rest against the bark with a _thunk_. "By Semele!" She looked up at Obelix soberly. "Someone went to a lot of trouble to get you out of this village."

Obelix flinched. So this was the agency of the gods. He must play along, then, even though he had no desire to. Latraviata was nice enough, but… "You're not really going… to marry me, are you?" he murmured, drawing close to her and looking furtively to left and right.

"Hardly." The Roman diva shook her head, frowning. Strands of hair from her elegant bun caught and pulled in the tree bark. "It's the most believable fiction, though. My orders are to get you to Rome as fast as possible. What you do there is up to you."

Obelix nodded. He supposed it was possible that Moccus had spoken to Latraviata directly – actors, it was known, could speak to the oracles and to demigods. Real actors, of course, not the rabble he and Asterix had once met in Condatum. He ached to ask her what exactly she had heard, and whether she'd met Moccus in person or if she had merely seen him in a dream… But it wasn't his place, and his conscience had sworn him to secrecy. "You've caused enough grief with your well-intentioned blundering," it had said.

Latraviata's graceful figure straightened. "Here comes Asterix," she announced, rising from where she sat. "I'm going to rest in your hut. I'll let you say your goodbyes."

Obelix looked down at the grass. All of a sudden, he felt very cold.

* * *

"Hi, Obelix."

Asterix's eyes were clear, soft, gentle. Obelix's chest twisted and tightened as he looked up at the tentative expression on the face of his friend. His best friend. The one who'd always defended him, always stood by him, always thought, always planned. Always protected him. Asterix. Asterix, looking at him now, quizzically, with a little smile, looking betrayed – as well he might – but still trying to understand. Loyal to the end. Obelix's head spun as he remembered his conscience's words.

 _"Remember, when you speak to him, use your sharpest words. Cut him to the heart."_

 _"What?"_

 _"Be hurtful. Tell him of the times you quarrelled. Tell him of every slight and grievance, however old."_

 _"I… I don't remember any…"_

 _"Make yourself remember. Invent reasons. Tell him he is holding you back and that you wish to seek your fortune unencumbered by him."_

 _"But…" Obelix froze. The words sounded like blasphemy. "But it's Asterix! I couldn't!"_

 _"It is the only way to cut the ties that bind him to you. He must think you are breaking them of your own accord."_

 _"I… I…" Obelix swallowed back tears. "I don't want him to hate me."_

 _"Blubbering again! Look at you! And they call you a warrior? I can't think how. 'Don't want him to hate me?' How selfish can you be, Obelix of Gaul? After all this, you STILL crave a place in his good graces, rather than do what he selflessly would without thinking?"_

 _Obelix bit down on the knuckle of his forefinger. "I…" There didn't seem to be anything left in the world for him. 'For him.' There he was, thinking of himself again. His conscience was right. He was a selfish, greedy pig, and he had to do whatever he could to rid Asterix of him. If he threw away his best friend's love… if that must be the price…_

 _"Think of it this way," his conscience said smoothly, as though continuing his thoughts. Which made sense – it was his conscience after all. "The years you had with him were a gift from the gods, a gift you never deserved. Now it has been revoked, but it's your duty to give them thanks that they allowed you so much luxury in the first place."_

Faced with his friend's open expression, his loving, clear hazel eyes, Obelix thought of the words his conscience had taught him. Of every time he had shared a laugh or a meal or a game with Asterix, or just sat watching the sunset. Every day had been a gift from the gods. Now, he had to leave Asterix, maybe to share meals and laughter and sport and peaceful moments with someone else.

It was for the greater good. To protect Asterix from his, Obelix's, failures and lapses. Asterix deserved better than Obelix. He'd do it.

"…never told me about it! You sly thing," Asterix was saying. Obelix blinked – it was clear Asterix had been speaking for some time.

"Mm," Obelix nodded. He couldn't form words.

"You could have told me, you know." His friend was smiling, but his eyes were pools of hurt. He looked lost. "Are you planning to come and stay here in the village with us in the off-season for theatre, or move to Rome for good?"

Obelix hadn't much experience with feeling helpless, but once, when he was a very small boy, he had fallen into the water before he'd learned how to swim. That terrible feeling, of kicking out for solid ground and finding none, was upon him now. He looked away, and shrugged noncommittally.

Asterix took a deep breath and soldiered on. "The Chief's preparing a big banquet. I think the women are secretly pleased to be talked into it. Talking about having some culture and art in the village." His smile became a touch more natural. "Can't think why they don't count Cacofonix!"

Obelix tried to imagine a big banquet, a wedding banquet. Flowers and song, light and music, warmth and friendship, the villagers assembled, flames leaping high around spits groaning with sizzling roast boar. Friends gathered all around, celebrating not a union, but a parting. His stomach heaved. For a moment his throat closed, and he choked on his own saliva. Then he blurted, "We'll be leaving straight away."

Asterix actually rocked back on his heels, as though he'd been struck. "I see. I…" Asterix swallowed. "I could come with you? Like… like our dads. Not now, of course," he added hurriedly. "I mean after your honeymoon. If you're planning to go into business there. I could help you set up—"

"No." Obelix sounded harsher than he'd intended, he was so full of shock. Asterix would leave the village for him? "No. I—" He scrabbled for a phrase from his conscience's arsenal. "…I think it's time to cut ties."

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of Dogmatix, whining quietly as he stood between the two friends.

"Obelix," Asterix murmured. "You're not serious."

Obelix folded his arms over his chest. "Why not, Mr Asterix? Because you think I'm not good enough to do anything but run around after you?"

Asterix's eyes widened. It broke Obelix's heart to see the soft, conciliatory expression in them. "Obelix! That isn't true. I've never thought that!"

'How many times,' his conscience whispered, 'has he apologized first, though you're the one to blame?'

Taking a deep breath, Obelix bellowed, "WELL, I DISAGREE WITH YOU ENTIRELY!"

A spark of anger appeared in Asterix's eyes. "What's the MATTER with you?"

"The matter, _Mister_ Asterix, is that now I have a woman who'll treat me the way I deserve." The words sounded odd on his own lips, but he'd rehearsed them with his conscience enough times to know what he was saying. "Like a hero and a leader. Not like a slave!"

Asterix stepped back, as though he had been struck. "A… what?" The stricken look in Asterix's eyes almost made Obelix falter.

 _If you're sorry, then show it. Set him free._

Almost.

"You just want me to be hopeless with women, like you! Now I've got Latraviata to like me, Mister Asterix is jealous!"

"Have you gone completely bonkers?" Recovering, Asterix stepped forward with his usual spirit. "Mister Obelix is out of his fat head!"

"I—" Obelix nearly said 'I am not fat,' but the words of his conscience came rushing in. _Barrel of lard. Slothful glutton._ He choked on his own arguments, his tongue not knowing what to do.

Asterix, observant as he was, had caught it. His eyes had gone soft, concerned. The eyes of a friend, the most loyal, devoted friend in the world. "Obelix," he said gently. "What's wrong? You can tell me."

"Asterix—" Obelix swallowed. This was it. With every ounce of sincerity he had, he stepped forward. Someone had told him he had a talent for acting, once. "I… I want to walk alone, out of your shadow. " _No no no no no no no,_ his heart cried silently, _not without you, I'll be miserable without you, the sun won't shine if you're not there._ He silenced it, and went on. "To have my own life, not be part of yours." _My life's your life – never want to be without you, never, ever without you…_

Asterix stared. "What?" he said, a stricken whisper.

"I want to have my own adventures. I—" What was that word his conscience had said? "I know you won't begrudge me that."

Asterix's wide, shocked eyes were beginning to well with tears. "Is that what you want, Obelix?"

Obelix nodded.

Although he looked struck to his soul, Asterix blinked hard, and stuck his chin out. "R…really and truly?"

Oh Toutatis, he could see he'd knifed Asterix in the heart. With everything in him, Obelix wanted to reach out and fling his arms round his friend and tell him he was sorry and of _course_ he didn't want anything of the sort and the only place he belonged was always and forever by Asterix's side. Instead, Obelix nodded. "Yes. You can understand that, can't you?"

"Obelix." Despite Asterix's best efforts, tears were starting to roll down his cheeks. "I'm sorry. If I'd only known you felt that way, I'd have done something about it sooner."

"It's my fault. I should have told you long ago."

Asterix's face crumpled. "Isn't there…" He manfully choked down a sob. "Isn't there anything I can do? To… to make it up to you?"

Seeing Asterix's heart broken by his own hand was like a knife in Obelix's own heart. _It's for the greater good,_ he remembered his conscience saying. He swallowed the urge to apologize, to grovel, to do anything to erase that look on Asterix's face. His conscience had been right after all: he brought Asterix only pain. He fell back onto more words carefully rehearsed. "I'm sorry. It's too late."

Dogmatix whined, like the prick of conscience. Both humans ignored him.

"Obelix." Asterix's voice shook. He swiped an arm across his face, and Obelix nearly burst into tears himself. Asterix shouldn't cry for him, him leaving shouldn't hurt Asterix this much, he wasn't worth it. "I'm sorry." Asterix stepped forward, reaching out. "Whatever I've done wrong, please let me—"

"Don't!" yelled Obelix. He knew he'd weaken if he saw that pleading look in Asterix's eyes any longer. As it was, he was barely holding himself back from grabbing Asterix's proffered hand and pulling his friend into a hug and begging for his forgiveness. He took a step backwards. "Don't touch me!"

"Obelix!"

The look on Asterix's face would haunt Obelix to his dying day. He barely registered Asterix reaching for him still, wordless entreaty, before he blurted, "Goodbye forever, Asterix," and ran.


	8. Chapter 8

For Pilyarquitect and Filosofieke. You know why.

* * *

Asterix wasn't village warrior for nothing.

He stood straight and proud as Obelix and Latraviata took their leave of the village chieftain and his wife, politely refusing all offers of a banquet, explaining the need to leave post-haste to catch up with a theatrical convoy heading for Rome. He noted, dully, how Latraviata was doing all the talking and Obelix stood silent and still beside her. If it were true that he, Asterix, had held Obelix in his unwitting thrall all these years, it appeared to all intents and purposes that his friend was exchanging one type of willing servitude for another. Still, it wasn't his place to object. He would like to, but any objection would seem motivated by jealousy. So he stood, smiling, carrying Dogmatix, as the pair mounted Latraviata's handsome carriage and waved goodbye. The tiny dog had flatly declared where his allegiance lay, refusing to leave Asterix's side.

Asterix couldn't quite hold back his tears as the cart bearing Obelix and Latraviata bounced off down the dirt path leading away from the village. Getafix stood carefully next to him, offering support, but not drawing too much attention to Asterix's breakdown. Asterix wasn't ashamed to cry, but bawling like a baby in the druid's arms while the whole village looked on would be embarrassing, to say the least. So he stood straight and tall and held his head high, and flicked away the tears with his fingertips as fast as they appeared on his cheeks. Dogmatix whined and licked his face; Asterix couldn't pretend he wasn't glad of the support.

His other support, Getafix, stood by his side watching the cart trundle away, a silent, supportive shadow. "Something's not right," his old friend finally said, _sotto voce._ "This whole thing smells fishy."

Asterix absently stroked Dogmatix's fur. "Well, whatever floats your boat," he muttered, staring blankly at the horizon. What was it Obelix had said? Tired of walking in his shadow. Tired of being treated like a sidekick. How could Asterix have been so blind as to miss something this momentous? He cringed, remembering all the times he'd snapped at Obelix, often in public. Obelix had always given as good as he got, so Asterix had naively assumed that all was forgiven and forgotten. He'd never imagined it had been festering in his friend's psyche for this long…

As soon as the cart was fully out of sight, Asterix retreated, fading out of sight of the villagers. They were all still standing there; some were still waving their handkerchiefs. Fulliautomatix had done his duty and thumped Cacofonix to persuade him not to sing an ode of farewell, while Geriatrix was telling anyone who'd listen about the last Gauls to leave the village, Asterix's and Obelix's own parents. "Inherited a shop in Condatum, he did. No idea he had any long-lost relatives…"

Asterix retreated further, recalling their parents' last visit. "I do wish you had found a nice wife to take care of you before we left you all alone!" Asterix's Mum had sniffled, months ago, as they hugged their final goodbyes.

It seemed positively unreal to think of that visit now. "Oh Mum," he'd laughed as usual, "I don't need a wife." Next to him, saying goodbye to his own parents, Obelix had sniggered, overhearing, then hung his head as his own mother had started up on the selfsame subject.

Asterix's grin had faded as his mother spoke up. "Are you absolutely sure you don't want to come to Condatum with us? You could help your father in his shop…"

Asterix remembered now how scooping up his mother in his arms – the surest way he'd found to shut her up on most subjects – had achieved the additional aim of hiding Asterix's shudder at the mere thought of spending his days as a shopkeeper. He supposed his Dad was all right with it, at his age, and he had his best friend and his wife with him, all with their hearts set on the project – but Asterix had told his dad he'd sooner join the Roman Army than keep a shop. He felt a bittersweet pang at his dad's reaction when he'd said that. "You, Asterix, a legionary? Why, I'll see Obelix join the Roman Army first!"

The bubble of laughter was chased away by a weight like a stone in his chest. Obelix had promised to go and visit his own parents, sometime in the whirlwind of preparations before the couple had left. Left for Condatum, en route to Rome. Obelix was gone. Gone forever. Not only because he wanted to join Latraviata, but because he wanted to stay away from Asterix.

Because Asterix had made him unhappy.

* * *

The villagers were beginning to disperse from the tight knot around the big wooden gate, tiny clumps of twos and threes meandering off into the lengthening shadows of the sunset and chattering excitedly. Getafix looped an arm around his young friend's shoulders. He hadn't had a chance to talk with Obelix before the big Gaul had been whisked away, amongst a throng of well-wishers and a rousing speech on the joys of married life from Vitalstatistix. Obelix's bride had run interference pretty effectively, not letting Getafix or Asterix get too close—and that in itself was suspicious.

Still thinking hard, Getafix began to lead Asterix firmly away from the village gate, for it seemed the bereft warrior would be staring into the distance until the moon rose. Bride or no bride, Latraviata was a Roman, sent to the village to spy not all that long ago, and Getafix wasn't all that convinced of the purity of her motives. Asterix ought to have realized it himself, but for the fact that his normally sharp wit was blunted, its owner mooning around like an abandoned puppy, not unlike the dog huddled miserably in his arms, too upset to recognize that something was very, very wrong. The whole thing had happened far too fast, the happy couple gone much too quickly. Too quickly, Getafix realized, for anyone to question it. He wasn't in favour of the xenophobia preached by the likes of Geriatrix, Unhygienix et al., but that was a far cry from saying he _approved_ of the whirlwind romance.

Especially with how broken it had left Asterix. The Gaul trudging along beside him seemed a shadow of his former self. What would drive Obelix to break his best friend's heart like this? The naïve, childlike Gaul was well known for his weakness for a pretty face, but Getafix had never thought he would go this far!

The druid started as Asterix shrugged his arm off. "This is as far as I go." They'd arrived at his hut, though it was still some distance to the druid's.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to spend the night at my hut? I have some apple cider in fresh…" Getafix offered tentatively.

"No, that's all right."

"Are you sure?" Getafix pressed. He didn't quite like to say that Asterix shouldn't be alone tonight.

"Well, I…" Asterix appeared to be thinking it over, but Dogmatix let out a big doggy yawn, and Asterix followed suit. "I think I'll have an early night." He looked up at Getafix, bravely dredging up a smile. "I'll take you up on it tomorrow."

"If you're sure."

"Quite. 'Night, O Druid."

* * *

Getafix watched as Asterix dragged himself into his hut, and waited till the door creaked shut. He tried to quell his worry. After all, Asterix did have Obelix's dog with him. Man's best friend, and all that. Dogmatix had turned out a better friend to Asterix than Obelix had been, Getafix caught himself thinking with a touch of bitterness, before he shook himself out of it.

He crossed the small bridge over the stream by his house, taking comfort in the chuckling of the water over the stones. Tomorrow was another day, after all, and perhaps then Getafix could pump Asterix for information over a mug of cider, find out what in the name of all the gods had gotten into Obelix.

Something heavy struck Getafix in the back of the head, and everything went black. -


	9. Chapter 9

Note: Let the record show that, while I like Latraviata (mainly thanks to CrazyBeaver) and am willing to allow "Actress" to stand on those merits, that punch? Never. Happened. If you INSIST on keeping the plot, which I'm not crazy about, what with the dolphin and one thing and another, Obelix hit something that then fell on Asterix's head and caused the concussion. But a fandom in which Obelix willingly, in his right mind, lays violent hand on Asterix? That's a fandom I'm gone from, for good.

* * *

Obelix sat silently by Latraviata's side as the cart bounced over stones and potholes. The actress was silent, hands tight on the reins, staring ahead as though the entire charade was distasteful to her.

 _No woman would have you._ Not that it mattered. It was no woman's eyes that were burned into Obelix's brain, but Asterix's wide, hazel ones, stricken as Obelix made his false confession: a hatred never felt, a resentment that had never smoldered, an anger that had never lasted for longer than the brief moment it took to have a silly squabble.

The wind, cold with the night-chill now, blew through the treetops, rustling the leaves. Obelix had no problems with riding all night; in fact, he wanted it. Wanted to put as much distance as possible between himself and the village. Wanted to ride all night, so as not to sleep, and not to dream. He wondered if his conscience would finally let him rest.

He wondered if Asterix would ever forgive him. He wondered if he deserved Asterix's forgiveness. He wondered if he would ever be happy again. He found he didn't care all that much, one way or the other. As long as Asterix was all right. He thought of the image his conscience had shown him, Asterix lying with a sword in his heart. He shuddered.

"Are you well?" Latraviata's gaze was not unfriendly, but slightly wary, as though she feared an unknown assailant.

Obelix nodded.

"We have a few miles ahead of us. Then we'll stop for the night."

Obelix nodded again. It didn't really matter.

As the cart moved through the trees at a good clip, faster now they had emerged onto the paved road at the end of the forest – Obelix had a faint idea that he and Asterix had traversed it once before, en route to Condatum – he began to give some thought to what he would do in Rome, or wherever he ended up. All he could think of was his village, the familiar faces of family and friends, the well-trodden dusty paths where he had grown up, the rich harvest of chestnuts in season, the patches of blue wildflowers and the spots where he and Asterix could go mushrooming—

Asterix's wounded gaze rose before him again, and he had to blink hard to dismiss it. Asterix would be all right. He had Dogmatix. He'd be friends with Getafix. Perhaps Cacofonix or one of the village men would go on adventures with him. Or even some stranger to the village, someone good, someone with brains, someone who was more worthy of Asterix's friendship. Someone to come and be the best friend that Asterix deserved.

Obelix tried to tamp down the jealousy and grief he felt at the thought. Asterix deserved better. Deserved someone quick-witted and funny and loyal, someone who wasn't always thinking of his stomach.

On cue, his stomach growled. Obelix sighed. He was hungry, but somehow he didn't feel like eating. Eating was bound up with lazy summer days and bright winter ones, warm evenings around a bonfire or huddled around the hearth. The warmth of knowing there was one Gaul in the world who understood him completely and utterly. The Gaul who now thought Obelix hated him.

He shifted on the wooden driver's bench. Latraviata's sharp eyes seemed to see through him. "You can lie down inside if you like," she said.

Whatever dregs of Gaulish gallantry remained inside him made Obelix shake his head. "No, 'salright." Let her drive while he lazed away the journey? Bad enough he wasn't pulling his weight.

"Suit yourself." She looked around furtively, then faced the road again.

A clouded moon was rising, gradually outshining the stars. It washed each cobblestone slick with light, picking out its curved surface and submerging the spaces between the stones in little pools of darkness. On the Roman road, each row of black shadows seemed to run up to them beneath the horses' hooves, just as quickly swallowed up by the dark shade of the rumbling cart. Obelix sat in a sort of daze, the moonlight dissolving in his mind into all the times he and Asterix had bade each other goodnight, lying safely together under the stars. He hadn't thought leaving Asterix would hurt like this. He'd known it would hurt, but he'd thought it would be the sudden, intense pain of a blow or a cut. This was more like a disease, a worm inside his heart, eating away at it slowly, until maybe, maybe there was nothing left.

He jolted out of his thoughts as Latraviata pulled the horses up at the edge of a small clearing. "Here we are." She leapt lightly out. By the time Obelix descended from the cart, she had the horses tied up and feeding. "Bring their water out of the back, would you?"

Obelix complied and watered the horses. "D'you need anything else?" he asked, forcing out the words.

"Don't you want anything to eat? I have provisions." She glanced dubiously back at the cart. "Not to mention, your chieftain's wife has filled half the cart with roast boar."

"I'll eat in a minute…" Obelix lay down on a soft clump of clover beneath the trees, and closed his eyes.

Latraviata startled as a snore came from the mastodon on the grass. That had certainly come over him very quickly.

She shrugged mentally and finished her care of the horses, hoisting up the water buckets when they had drunk their fill, and hefting them up into the cart again. No-one could ever accuse Latraviata of being a farm girl, but singing and declaiming and running around on stage and in rehearsals kept her strong enough. She'd have the big lug fill them up when they got to a stream or something. No aqueducts, not even a well… and Juno forbid there be _baths_ or anything for miles and miles around…

"…no…"

Latraviata whirled. Obelix was murmuring unhappily in his sleep. "Asterix," he muttered, his voice cracking.

Her shoulders slumped. _Asterix._ And that was it, wasn't it? That was the crux of the matter. The way the little Gaul had looked at his friend as the two of them were leaving the village… Asterix had been heartbroken. He had smiled and waved, but the bereft look in his eyes had told a different story.

The feeling that she – or her actions – had caused this pain, in such a decent and honorable man, sat like a lump in Latraviata's chest. To be curious was one thing; to follow Caesar's orders was another. But it was something else altogether to knowingly participate in so hurting Asterix, a man who had shown her only respect, even when she had been a traitor in their midst. The small Gaul had elevated her to the status of a lady: she, an actress, whom many Gauls and even Romans viewed as a common whore.

As she looked on, Obelix stirred in his sleep again, murmuring Asterix's name. Latraviata wasn't sure even Asterix was aware of the extent of what he had done for her, what he had saved her from. The fate of failed spies in the Roman Empire was not kind. Brutus' plot had been unmasked: Latraviata had been found out as a spy involved with him in a plot, ultimately, against Caesar himself. Only the gods knew whether she would have faced the lions, crucifixion, her tongue cut out, or what. But once Asterix had given her the statue of Caesar, she had been safe. The Gaul had repaid her duplicity with kindness, her treachery with respect. His friends and family had opened their hearts to her, with a generosity of spirit that beggared belief. And she would be a poor excuse for an honorable woman if she were to hurt Asterix in return.

Oh, he hadn't shown hurt: not in the slightest. Asterix was a good actor, she'd give him that. But it took one to know one. This was Latraviata's job, and she could see the telltale signs of a performance, even a good one. All through his selfless, impassioned defense of his friend's right to marry, all through his broad grin and wave goodbye, Asterix had been putting on an act: Obelix's departure had shattered him. She had seen it in his eyes. And she was willing to wager that Obelix, although he was no actor, had seen it too.

And that Obelix's heart, which – unlike his friend – he wore on his sleeve, was just as broken as Asterix's.

"O Asterix…" Obelix stirred in his sleep. Latraviata looked at him, considering.

The big man was troubling to her. She'd originally thought him a brainless lump of fat and muscle, his great strength more fearful than benign – but over the few times she had seen him, she'd been forced to reconsider. Today had been an eye-opener, seeing such a strong man so lost, then sitting silently in the cart for hours, weeping mutely like a lost child. Barbarian he might be, but he had a heart. And something or someone had cut that heart deeply.

Whether that someone was the Numidian who had spoken to her in the camp—well, that remained to be seen.

Latraviata pulled some dry tinder out of the cart, and moved to start the fire. The Numidian – well, Roman, in truth – Caius Insidius by name – ought to be here by now; he had said he would rendezvous with them at this point. She had never found out his exact rank; if she had to guess, she'd say military intelligence, a spy of some sort. He seemed less of a military personage – although all the legionaries obeyed him – and more of a thespian, like Latraviata herself. He seemed… almost like a shaman. He hid it well, but the aura of shamans was common enough among those in the theatrical profession for Latraviata to recognize it when she saw it.

The kindling caught, a small flame growing into a blaze. Latraviata carefully added tinder, staring into the fire's glow. Why would a shaman be denying his healing abilities? Shamans were universally revered, much like druids. In the military, he would have no chance to utilize his rare talents.

She shrugged mentally and turned—and yelped. There he was, behind her. She had heard no horses' hooves, no sound.

"Hush," he said, not pleasantly. "You'll wake him."

"Don't sneak up on me like that again," Latraviata commanded, rising to her full height. She towered above him.

He looked up at her, seemingly about to make a retort, then closed his mouth. "Go to bed in the caravan," he commanded, jerking his thumb towards it. "I have something to say to our friend."

Latraviata stared a moment. She was _not_ accustomed to having some little shrimp of a Secret Service agent order her about, misguided shaman or no misguided shaman. She contemplated saying 'no', but in the end, exhaustion won out. She climbed into the caravan, and had barely finished her bread and cheese before she drifted off into a well-earned slumber.

* * *

Insidius closed his eyes and breathed. He fell into the trance more easily this time, without the distractions of creeping past guard dogs and villagers to break his concentration.

Grief-stricken hazel eyes stared him in the face, pleading, bereft. "Please," said their owner. "Let me make it up to you."

A great well of loneliness opened up below Caius Insidius, as he was cast into Obelix the Gaul's private hell.

He had always been able to control events in dreams, but not this time. That swooping sickness in the stomach that came with bad news had become a whirlpool that sucked him down, his legs flailing for purchase, until he was nothing but sick longing and misery and dread. Seeking desperately to land, he could find no analogue of solid ground, no tree nor forest nor floor to lean against, only crawling distaste that made everything abhorrent, a world with sticky, gelatinous sides that hurt to reach out and touch, that offered no refuge but to fold up inside oneself, curl up around the pain that—

With a jerk, he tore himself out of the dream. Caius shook his head violently, weak with relief to be sitting on the moonlit grass. What horror had he been in, what kind of misery was this naïve Gaul going through, to consume him so completely?

His innards lurched and he folded an arm across his stomach, retching involuntarily. This couldn't go on. He couldn't let it. He must help—

What was he thinking? He was an envoy of Caesar! This was the price that must be paid for victory. For an empire to stand, the unhappiness of one man was a small price to pay.

Yet something called to him to go back. To go back inside, to assuage, to heal. Hazy, in the back of Caius' head, was an image of his mother's eyes.

He reached out again. He wasn't healing. He wasn't. He _wasn't_. He would tell Obelix that this was for the best.

His hand shook as he reached out and touched the Gaul's broad shoulder.

The ground opened up again beneath him. It was all he could do not to scream as he was sucked in. His heart beat against the back of his eyelids, his stomach pulsed with acid and bile. Beneath his skin was grating sand. "It's all right," he murmured, reaching out blindly in the red darkness. "It's all right."

The darkness pulsed more violently, threatening to expel him. Caius knew, without knowing how he knew, that it was because he had uttered an untruth. It was not all right, it would grow worse yet, would end badly. What could he say? "It's for the greater good," he managed to project. The darkness rippled and rocked, like a sea of vomitus. Those grieving hazel eyes still haunted Obelix. "Asterix will be well. He will be better off without you," Caius whispered. A blunt spike of pain skewered down from his windpipe to his stomach. "Your leaving will be good for him—"

 _Leaving._ In a rush, he saw everything – saw, through Obelix's eyes, Asterix's reaction to his carefully prompted script. The small warrior had not confronted the cruel words with anger but with pure, selfless love. He had reached forward instead of shrinking back, offering apology, consolation, amends. Far from enfeebling the bond between the two friends, Caius' carefully scripted words had more strongly entwined their hearts. Asterix's genuine remorse, his desire to console his friend, his sincere grief at causing him pain, were like strong, silken cords, binding the pair together; Caius felt the pain of their sundering like a limb being forcibly twisted off.

Again, he saw his mother's face.

Caius Insidius broke the contact, world spinning, mind whirling. This was wrong, all wrong! He was supposed to have implanted further assurances in Obelix's mind that leaving had been the right thing to do! Not be affected by the Gaul's emotions!

He staggered away from the sleeper, hardly able to keep his steps quiet at first. After what seemed like a long distance, he reached his horse, its hooves wrapped for silence. Taking hold of the reins, he led it silently away. Riding was out of the question at the moment – even on foot, he felt half-ready to fall headlong. This was such as he had never experienced. The sensation he had felt before returned tenfold. This felt like truth.

* * *

"Tell us the truth, druid – does any other of the Gauls know how to make the potion?"

The druid sighed. "O Centurion, the secret may be handed down only from druid to druid, by word of mouth. That's common knowledge."

The centurion chuckled. "Anyway, we'll soon have them drinking the last of the potion, with our attacks. Even if you _did_ leave them some."

Getafix merely nodded, not deigning to reply. It wouldn't be the first time a Roman had bluffed him.

The cage he was in, jostling in a donkey-cart bound presumably for a Roman camp, wasn't a bed of feathers, but he was mercifully not tied up, so all in all, it could have been much worse. It wasn't even the first time he'd been captured, and Getafix felt confident enough in his own abilities to parlay or manoeuvre a way out of his predicament. He was no Asterix, but he did have low cunning enough for a cohort of such witless legionaries as these, and their centurion into the bargain.

No, his own fate wasn't worrying him. What _did_ have him scared was the village. Obelix being seduced away by a Roman woman, and him being kidnapped hot on the heels of that – well, there was very little likelihood of convincing Getafix that the two events were unconnected. "What do you want from me?" he asked, the inanity of the question no less deliberate than his slightly panicky tone of voice.

"Don't worry about that, Druid." The centurion chuckled.

Getafix rolled his eyes inwardly. "What's going to become of the village without me?" he quavered, sounding about fifty years older than his normal voice.

"Village? Ha! By the time we get you to Rome, there will be no village left. Your villagers will be joining you in the circus with the lions!"

"The circus? Never! They'll fight you till their last breath!"

Getafix made sure to sound suitably desperate, and as he'd hoped, his feigned weakness loosened his captor's tongue. "By Juno, you're naïve. Now that your big mastodon is out of the picture, and you're not around to make them the magic potion, they will fall like the cowards they are!"

Getafix bit his tongue against defending his fellow-villagers against the appellation. Instead, he made himself stammer, "What—how do you know—I mean, what makes you think Obelix has left the village?"

The centurion laughed. "Because we made him leave! It was part of the cunning plan made by glorious Caesar, son of the Roman she-wolf, with the cunning of a fox! Listen, O Druid, and marvel at his ingenuity…"

* * *

Asterix lay awake, staring at the thatched roof. So many times he had bid Obelix goodnight beneath this thatch, within these walls. So many other times, in the open, on the road or on the grass or in some inn or lodging-house. Hardly a day of his life had gone by when he and his best friend hadn't been together.

Dogmatix whined softly. The little dog was curled up on Asterix's chest, the only point of warmth in a cold shroud that seemed to envelop his whole body. Now he was alone, all that remained to Asterix were what-if's and why's. Why hadn't he noticed? How could he have been so blind? What could he have done differently?

Obelix falling head over heels for a pretty woman was hardly a new event. Asterix had noticed it, even helped his budding romances along on occasion. Even if Obelix had decided to move away with his bride, Asterix would have found a way to remain friends – either go with him, or divide his time between their village and Rome. When there was a will, there was a way; he was confident it could be done.

 _Could have been_ done.

Asterix felt dizzy. It was as though everything solid about him were falling through the straw, leaving a boneless husk of a man behind. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them, looking at the stars. The stars were still there. He hadn't driven _them_ away, at least.

Toutatis, what was he thinking? Obelix was being silly, that was all! Since when had Asterix…

 _I think it's time to cut ties._

Something about that line suddenly struck Asterix.

 _I think it's time to cut ties._

Asterix's eyes sharpened, opening fully. He'd been nursing his own heartbreak, and he hadn't realized till now that the words weren't like Obelix's turn of phrase at all.

"Yip?" asked Dogmatix.

"I don't know yet," Asterix muttered, scratching behind the little dog's ears. Dogmatix yipped again, more quietly, and settled back into a warm lump on Asterix's chest. "But something's not… not quite right."

He stared up at the thatch, thinking hard. _Time to cut ties._ Obelix would say "go away forever," "not be friends anymore," "time I learned to manage without you." All would have been hurtful, but at least in character. But 'cut ties' wasn't the way his emotional, naïve friend thought, and Asterix knew his thought processes well enough after all these years.

Asterix absently stroked Dogmatix's head, thoughts running a mile a minute. What, then? Had Latraviata… it wasn't impossible… been instructed to lure Obelix away, and put those ideas into his head and those words on his lips? She had been sent before, by the Romans, to infiltrate their village. But that had been in disguise. Would she be so bold as to come again, as herself, doing the invader's bidding?

A few of the earliest morning-birds, up before the village cockerel, were starting to twitter and chirp, telling him that dawn was not so far away. Sleep was starting to pull Asterix under, his body finally succumbing to the need for rest. But his thoughts would not let him fall into slumber.

After the debacle with Brutus, Asterix had thought the Roman diva a friend, a convert to their way of thinking. His instincts rarely played him false in the subtle skill of dividing friend from foe. But she could have been coerced, he knew well enough, and in any case… In any case, what? His thoughts were starting to drift, his head falling backwards into a warm blanket of sleep. Rest was inviting… He was so tired…

"FIRE!"


	10. Chapter 10

For Pilyarquitect and Filosofie, again, and CrazyBeaver, always.

* * *

Fotogenix and Fulliautomatix, who lived closest, plus Vitalstatistix and his shield-bearers, were already at the scene of the fire when Asterix sprinted up, still in his nightclothes like them. Some dry brush had caught alight just inside the fence on the east side of the village; the blaze, though small, seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere. The village cockerel was crowing frantically, chickens scuttling to and fro and Dogmatix barking for all he was worth. There were lights starting to come on in the huts as people lit candles from their hearths, but as yet no-one else had arrived. The four men – the chief now off his shield and working alongside them – were scooping up handfuls of earth to throw on the flames.

"Here!" Asterix shouted breathlessly. He had taken the time to grab a bucket of water from the well nearest his house, and handed it to Fulliautomatix, knowing the taller man would have a better angle to douse the blaze.

"Thanks—" His eyes catching Asterix's in gratitude, the blacksmith slung the bucket at the base of the flames, the way they had been taught to do as children, letting the water slosh out in a wet, heavy arc. They were rewarded with a satisfying splash and sizzle as the flames disappeared under the onslaught, leaving a burnt, wet patch of earth.

The men looked at each other, breathing hard. Asterix could feel his heart pounding. He could tell by the pallor of the others' faces that they were shaken, too. He took a deep breath. "Well, that's that," he panted. Dogmatix yipped beside him, and he bent to pick up his faithful pet, rubbing his furry head. "We—"

He'd been about to say something about being careful of the summer heat and dry kindling, but was silenced by a cry from the far end of the village. "Fire!"

* * *

It was a little before dawn when the little army worm came knocking on Latraviata's tent. He didn't peep inside, and it was a good thing, too, or she'd have scratched his eyes out, Caesar's envoy or no. She wrapped her traveling-cloak around her to hide her hair disheveled from sleep, and stepped out, making sure to tower above him.

But the Roman agent's usual supercilious air wasn't there. He looked… _shaken?_

"C—continue on your way," he commanded, voice far from steady. "Stop at midday, and try to coax… Obelix… to have a big meal. I want to t—try entering his dreams during his siesta."

Latraviata inclined her head. He was already turning away. _I suppose that answers my question as to whether he'll be traveling with us._

The birds started to chirp as she stared after him, frowning. More and more, Latraviata was getting the feeling that something was very, very wrong.

She still wasn't sure exactly what she was doing – other than breaking Asterix's heart – but she had learned one thing: Getting Obelix away from the village was taking away a part of its defenses. That was basic military strategy.

And she had friends among the villagers. Possibly even this great mastodon among them.

 _This has gone far enough._

It was time to warn Obelix. Only… warn him of what, exactly?

She had already told him that she was sent to take him away from the village. He knew. What could she tell him that he didn't already know?

It was starting to grow light, and still Latraviata stood there, thinking. What did she know that Obelix didn't? Nothing. He shared her knowledge of the masquerade of the sham marriage. He knew that Asterix had to believe the engagement was genuine. He knew that Latraviata's mission was to pose as his bride and take him to Rome. In short, he knew as much as she did at this point.

As the first rays of the sun lit up the sky, Latraviata nodded decisively. Warning Obelix was the wrong course to take. What she had to do was find some way to get answers from the Roman shaman-spy-whatever in Juno's name he was. Perhaps she could eavesdrop on whatever he was saying to Obelix next time. After lunch. That sounded like a plan.

That decided, Latraviata turned back through the wagon flap to commence her coiffure.

* * *

Asterix had lost count of the number of fires he'd put out. The blaze on the eastern side of the village had been followed by one by the western wall, and they'd barely put that one out when there had been another out behind Vitalstatistix's hut. At some point, he'd dashed over to his house to dress and grab his gourd of potion, from which he'd drunk more than once to be able to carry more water, move faster, be available, keep the village safe.

Now more than ever, as he dashed from conflagration to conflagration, he was sure of one thing: these were no random summer fires. These were deliberate, and though he'd seen no Romans around, he still saw no more likely candidate.

"Asterix! Over here!"

He ran over to another fire. He was busy putting them out, but he couldn't help using his head, trying to fathom the logic behind these attacks. These were no flame-loaded ballistae; these tiny fires were innocuous in themselves. The Romans were fighting them with a swarm of tiny mosquitoes, not a raging lion. And the question would not leave Asterix's head: _why?_

This had to be part of a larger plan. The Romans must know that they couldn't keep setting fires indefinitely. Or – perhaps they could, of course, in shifts, leaving the villagers no time to see to their own affairs. But that could easily be stopped by a little incursion into the Roman camp, or camps, responsible for this state of aff—

A thought struck Asterix so suddenly that he screeched to a halt in his frenzied running, blurting it out loud. "Where's our druid, Getafix?"

His head whipped from side to side so fast he felt dizzy for an instant. He hadn't seen their druid out and about since the village's first panicked awakening, not once. And Getafix was _always_ there. Always.

"I'm going to look for Getafix," he called over his shoulder at the villagers running to put out the latest conflagration. Then he ran.

* * *

Getafix's hut, as he'd suspected, was empty. There was a congealing mess in a small cauldron on the hearth, and the fire was completely out. Asterix bent over the embers to find them cold. That meant Getafix hadn't spent the night in his hut; the village druid was always ready to prepare potions and brews at a moment's notice, which meant he _never_ let his fire go out, even on the hottest days. Not unless he was away on a trip. "Someone took him on his way home," Asterix muttered, suddenly aching with guilt and regret. He could have accepted Getafix's invitation, walked him home, protected him.

"Yip."

"Yes, of course, Dogmatix." Asterix picked up the little dog. "I'll buck up, I promise." He scratched behind Dogmatix's ears affectionately. "We'll find Getafix, and those Romans will rue the day they took him. And then, I'll find your master and find out just what's got into him, and—"

"The Romans are attacking!"

Asterix stilled. _So that's what the Romans were up to!_

He might have had time to come up with a brilliant plan – although he couldn't ever guarantee when, or what, inspiration would strike – if it had been less sudden or if he hadn't been holed up in the druid's hut when it started, or if there had been more than just that single gourd of potion in the entire village.

 _The emergency stock!_ Ignoring the shouts, stamping feet and the clang of metal around the hut, Asterix dived under the floorboards, Dogmatix hot on his heels. It went against the grain to turn his back on a battle, but the main thing was to win, not blindly follow his own wishes. If he could get his hands on the spare cauldron of potion Getafix left when he was away—

—of course, there was none. Getafix had left no cauldron of potion. He hadn't made the preparations for going on a trip because he hadn't gone away on a trip – he'd been kidnapped. There was no spare cauldron. There was nothing.

Dogmatix howled. "Shh, Dogmatix." The dog obediently fell silent. Asterix took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. There were no windows in Getafix's cellar, but clouds of dust floated in through the open doorway, accompanied by the clash of steel on steel, rather than the more benign thuds and punches (followed by a hasty retreat) that usually accompanied a Roman incursion into the village.

He took a few stealthy steps up the stairway, hoping to assess the battle. By the sound of it, there were at least four Romans to every villager, making swordsmanship and skill irrelevant. Asterix jerked backwards involuntarily at the sound of a loud thud, followed by Unhygienix yelling curses and threats. "Chain him up!" someone commanded. Metal rattled.

His hand strayed to the hilt of his sword, but it clenched on the handle and stayed there. Rushing in would do no good if they were outnumbered. The only opportunity he'd have would be the element of surprise. He would stay down here and bide his time, launch some stealth attack…

"…your midget warrior?"

Asterix felt every sinew in his body pull tight and stay tensed, as he quivered with listening. Dogmatix, seeming to understand, stayed silent and still by his side.

"He's off on a mission with Obelix," Vitalstatistix's voice filtered in. He sounded breathless, and a little hoarse, but the lie was delivered with a confidence that made Asterix cheer him on.

The metallic hum of a Roman sword being drawn from an Army-issue scabbard sang in Asterix's ears, pulling his tension tighter. "Liar!" shouted the Roman – probably a centurion or higher, judging by the command in his tone and the way the hubbub died down when he had spoken. "Your fat fool of a brute is on his way to Rome thanks to our plans. The small cunning one was here till this morning. Now where is he?"

Cold gripped Asterix, so tight he couldn't breathe for a moment. _On his way to Rome thanks to our plans._ So it _was_ a ruse. _Time to cut ties._ They'd done all this – Latraviata had been a plant – in order to get rid of Obelix…

Vitalstatistix cried out.

Asterix was bursting through the door before he knew it, heart pounding out of his chest.


	11. Chapter 11

Asterix's gourd of potion was empty, of course, long since drained by putting out the endless fires, and he tossed it away as he ran. Time to rely on his wits.

Because of the way Getafix's hut was situated, built right up next to the small waterfall that fed the village stream, with a hillock round the side, it was possible to gain quite a high altitude as you rounded the house. Sprinting to higher ground even as the Roman spoke, Asterix caught sight of the gathering, taking it all in as he crested the hill: villagers surrounded and chained, chief with his back to Asterix, held down by two hulking legionaries, and the Roman centurion facing the chief, holding his sword out at arm's length, its point not visible to Asterix from this angle but clearly pressed into what must have been Vitalstatistix's chin. Speeding to a sprint, Asterix drew his sword as he leaped forward, plunging it into a cleft in the rock and using it like a pole-vaulter to catapult himself upwards, straight towards the oblivious centurion.

Alerted by some whisper of sound, the Roman looked up just in time for Asterix's feet to crash solidly into his face. The villagers cheered as the centurion was knocked backwards by the momentum into the dust. Asterix somersaulted lightly out of the crash to land on his feet, facing his fallen opponent, sword out in a ready position. A moment later, he was joined by a growling, yapping Dogmatix. "You all right, O Chief?" Asterix called evenly, never taking his eyes off the centurion, who was stirring, fumbling for his sword.

"Yes," Vitalstatistix called back, not wasting words as he gingerly rubbed his neck. He was obliged to take a step backwards as the legionary nudged him with his weapon. Around and slightly behind him, the villagers stood in a tight knot, surrounded by Roman spears.

"Give it up, Gaul."

Asterix turned. The optio had his blade pressed to a little girl's neck.

The centurion groaned, rising to one elbow, as Asterix pulled himself up ramrod straight, and tossed his sword at the Romans' feet for all the world like Vercingetorix giving his arms to Caesar. "Let her go," said the Gaulish warrior imperiously, folding his arms across his chest. The optio lowered his sword and loosened his hold, letting the child fly like a little bird back to her parents' waiting embrace.

And Dogmatix, who had drooped into a mass of sad doggy-ears since the optio had threatened the child, chose this moment to attack the centurion. He flew at the man's face, and if Callus hadn't raised his arm protectively, he'd probably have had a little white dog hanging from the end of his nose. He yelled as Dogmatix sank his teeth into his forearm. The legionaries and the villagers tensed. "Get this #$%^&*! dog off me!" shouted the Roman, trying hard to shake the dog off. Finally, he wrapped the fingers of his other hand round Dogmatix's neck. The little dog's jaws gradually went slack as he lost consciousness.

Asterix and the children yelled as their beloved mascot slumped. Once Dogmatix was fully unconscious, the centurion tossed him away. The little girl who had been captive caught him, and the village children clustered round their beloved pet, rubbing the tiny chest and giving what first aid they could. Dogmatix whined softly; Asterix felt weak with relief that he was still alive. "Hold him," he called to the children. "Don't let him get away." He wouldn't let the dog get killed protecting him, that much was certain.

Meanwhile, the centurion was slipping on the ground as he tried to get up. "Did I tell you to let that child go?!" he roared at the optio. He'd fallen into a mud puddle, and it wasn't doing much for his uniform. "Are you taking orders from Gauls now?!"

The optio blanched. "Sorry, Centurion Callus, sir, I…"

"Grab that Gaul!" The centurion was visibly livid, rubbing his stomach and the back of his head where Asterix had landed on him. Dogmatix's teeth hadn't broken his skin, but there was a clear doggy-tooth-print beneath the hair on his meaty forearm. His uniform skirt was sopping, trailing mud onto his legs and sandals. "And start putting the rest of the Gauls in irons! Inspector-General Judicius will be here soon, and we need to get marching!"

"There's no need for irons, O Roman." Asterix was still standing stiffly, but his mind was running a mile a minute. _Inspector-General here soon._ _The rest of the Gauls. Get marching. Time to cut ties. On his way to Rome thanks to our plans._ "We'll come peacefully."

The optio glanced over at the Centurion Callus. His hesitation appeared to incense Callus even more. "What are you waiting for? LEGIONARIES! CHAIN THIS LOT UP!" He finally staggered to his feet, rubbing his chest where Asterix's feet had landed. Watching the legionaries hurrying to do his bidding and fixing leg-irons around the villagers, he finally nodded and turned to the optio, voice deceptively sweet. "And is there some reason you haven't restrained this Gaul yet? Perhaps you are waiting for Persephone or Juno to descend from heaven and garland him with flowers?"

"Well, no, sir, that is, sir, just waiting for the chains to—"

"Idiot! Hold him still!"

"Yessir." Asterix's dignified pose appeared to intimidate the optio, who walked up to Asterix, then behind him. Asterix felt glad, for every moment a Gaul showed dignity was a moment he filled the hearts of his fellow-villagers with the courage to go on.

The optio was still hesitating. "Sir…"

"Secret Gaulish sympathizer, are we?"

"No, I…"

"LEGIONARIES! PUT THIS MAN IN IRONS!"

At least ten legionaries pounced on Asterix, momentarily concealing him from view under a pile of Roman-uniformed soldiers. Here and there, a small hammer or chisel appeared, tools of the trade. When they emerged, Asterix was still in his dignified pose, legs shackled together by a chain like the rest of the villagers, with the additional precaution of irons on his wrists, too, attached by more chains to a metal band around his waist. It would have been child's play to get rid of them with the magic potion, but now…

Still, a Gaul must show courage. Asterix turned to Vitalstatistix, standing at the front of his captive fellow-villagers, to offer a cocky, encouraging smile.

The Centurion raised his hand. "Asterix, look out!" Vitalstatistix called out, but it was already too late. He never saw the blow coming.

It was a slap, not a punch—meant to humiliate rather than hurt. The villagers gasped and murmured as Asterix's head snapped to the side. The small warrior staggered and almost fell. Immediately, despite the indignity, Asterix righted himself. Straight-backed, arms folded, he held his head high, the centurion's slap printed on his cheek for all to see.

Vitalstatistix's skin prickled hot and cold with borrowed shame. How did Asterix find the courage to stand with his head high like this, to display the mark of his humiliation like this? From his close vantage point, Vitalstatistix could see a perfect outline of the Roman's hand, each finger-mark already puffing up into a blister. It said clearly, _This man is not a warrior, but a slave._

Dogmatix growled, but the children held him fast. Trying to maintain his image as chief, Vitalstatistix suppressed his own wince. It was galling to be chief of a defeated village, but more so to see one of his own villagers – his best man – degraded. "Strike a man in irons? Shame on you!" he called out.

Callus sneered. "He is no man, but a common slave. I only meted out punishment to him as we punish our insolent slaves—or our children."

Asterix flushed scarlet, and held himself taller. Any stiffer and his spine would snap, thought Vitalstatistix. But he wasn't letting the Roman get away with that. "He is a warrior who fought you with courage and skill, while _you_ only got up the gumption to fight back when he was put in chains. And you have the gall to cast doubt on _his_ honor? Put your own house in order first, Roman!"

The optione looked at the ground. The centurion, though, glared at Vitalstatistix, and took a few steps towards where the women and children were shackled alongside the men. "I could leave off hitting the men entirely," he said smoothly, "if you prefer."

"Don't you dare!" Impedimenta shouted. Vitalstatistix hushed her, whereupon she swung round on him. "Did you hear what that brute threatened to do?"

"Brute, am I?" the centurion smiled. "Guess I'd better live up to it, then."

Cold terror slid through Vitalstatistix. He stepped in front of his wife, shielding the others in her turn. "Look here, Roman…"

"He's a coward, O Chief," Asterix's voice rang out, cutting through the murmurs. "Look at him. Striking women and children is about all he can manage."

Callus turned to face Asterix. "Not had enough, have you?"

Asterix stared contemptuously back. Short, shackled, degraded, the small warrior still seemed to look down on the man whose handprint he bore. "I wouldn't have expected any better of you. Romans _used_ to be honorable combatants. But now…" He huffed and gave a little disparaging shake of the head. "Look what you've come to. Caesar would be ashamed."

Vitalstatistix felt his breathing quicken as the Roman commander turned away from the village women, fists clenching at his sides. Asterix's ruse was transparent. The village warrior had snapped out of his own sense of dishonor to goad the centurion away from the women and children, and bring the abuse down on himself. And to his everlasting shame, Vitalstatistix was grateful for it.

Centurion Callus walked up to Asterix until they were nose-to-nose. Asterix held his gaze, stern and disdainful. The centurion held his position for a long moment. Then he turned away.

Vitalstatistix barely had time to sigh silently in relief before Callus turned to the legionaries. "Any of you want payback, men?" he called. "For all the drubbings this little shrimp and his fat brute of a friend have given you all these years?"

There were murmurs and movement among the legionaries. "Doesn't seem right… little chap…" muttered one legionary.

"Besides, not sporting… hit a man in chains…" came another murmur.

"Let me at him!" A hulking fellow with piercing blue eyes and a shock of blonde hair stepped out of the phalanx. Barrel-chested and muscular, he towered over his fellow-legionaries, with thick, hairy arms and fists fully as big as Obelix's. "Time to get a bit of our own backs."

"I'm with you, Sebaceus!" A smaller legionary shouldered his way through the ranks.

"You've beaten us up so many times, Gaul, it's time for a little payback." A third legionary dropped the chains he had been fastening on Fotogenix to catch up. The big Roman, Sebaceus, stood before Asterix, rubbing his large hands together as though he were washing them. He grinned and bared his teeth.

Then he punched Asterix in the stomach—or tried to. Asterix sidestepped him so fast he was a blur, causing the Roman to fall flat on his face with his own momentum. A small cloud of dust rose up as the would-be attacker faceplanted. The Gauls guffawed, glad enough to release their tension in a belly-laugh, and even the Romans tittered. "By Juno, Sebaceus, the midget in chains got the better of you!"

Asterix gave a lopsided grin as well as his swollen face would allow. "Catch you off balance, Roman?" he quipped.

Red in the face with rage, Sebaceus climbed to his feet in the dirt. "Hold his arms!" he snapped to his friends. Still grinning, the gung-ho pair of legionaries obligingly grabbed Asterix by the elbows. He approached Asterix again, clenching his fists—and Asterix, using the two legionaries' hold as a fulcrum, swung his legs up into Sebaceus' stomach. The air whuffed out of the big man as he landed on his backside.

But this time there was no laughter. The atmosphere had changed; the air was charged with blood. Sebaceus leapt up with a growl of rage. "Someone hold his feet!"

"Coming!" Two more legionaries separated themselves from the throng. "You've the right idea, mate," one said, while the other said something about a Gaulish raid on the fortified camp of Totorum and how it was about time these barbarians got taken down a peg or two.

The two men knelt behind Asterix, diving in to grab his legs out of kicking range. Asterix, knowing he was fully restrained, struggled no more. Instead, he looked Sebaceus full in the face. "Do your worst, Roman."

"Oh, I will." Without further ado, the big man reared back and, with all the strength of the big muscles in his back and shoulders, delivered a ferocious punch to the swollen side of Asterix's face. Vitalstatistix fancied he could hear bone crack.

There was a yell: it took Vitalstatistix a moment to realize the shout had been his own. Around him, the villagers and even some of the Romans gasped. For a moment Asterix sagged in his captors' arms, head lolling; then he doggedly raised his face to his attacker, blood dribbling from his nose and cheek where Sebaceus' knuckles had split skin. "I see…" he said through bloody lips and skewed jaw, "this seems to be the best you can do."

Sebaceus positively growled. "I'll shut that mouth of yours…" He reared back, and buried his fist into Asterix's stomach.

Asterix doubled over, gasping, only the two legionaries' grip holding him upright. "Let go of him!" his tormentor commanded. Asterix dropped at once. Immediately, the legionaries who had been holding his arms and legs set to kicking him, giving him no opportunity to get his breath back. The five of them belaboured his torso, ribs, back, arms, legs, anywhere they could reach.

Unable to escape or protect himself from the blows, Asterix writhed on the dusty ground, his shackled hands clutching convulsively at his tortured stomach muscles. "That's it, Sudoriferus," nodded Sebaceus. "Show that overreaching Gaul his place. In the dirt."

Some of the villagers protested, but Vitalstatistix and a few of the more experienced older ones silenced them – they didn't want to anger the Romans and make the beating go on longer. But as the kicking continued, Asterix turned blue, gasping soundlessly for air. "Stop it!" Vitalstatistix cried. "You'll kill him!"

"Kill him?" The centurion stepped forward. "We can't have that. Stand down, men."

"Just when it was getting interesting!" one of them said, but with some protests, the legionaries stepped back obediently. Asterix lay curled protectively into himself, clawed hands drawn up to his middle, shuddering convulsively as he alternated between gasping for air and choking back his moans.

"Can't kill him, can we?" said the centurion. Vitalstatistix would have liked to believe Callus had good intentions, but the half-smirk on the Roman's face showed otherwise. He moved in to Asterix with slow, measured strides. "At least, not if he begs for his life."

"He can't talk!" yelled Geriatrix. "Have some sense, Roman!"

The centurion barely glanced at the villagers. "Would any of you care to beg for his life?"

Vitalstatistix stepped forward. A Gaul's pride and dignity came first, before everything – except a fellow-Gaul's life.

"I humbly entreat you to spare him, Roman," Vitalstatistix said, easily. He'd seen eviscerated men on Vercingetorix's battlefield begging their leader to kill them and end the pain. This? This was nothing.

Callus' eyes narrowed. "I don't think you sound penitent enough." He drew nearer to Asterix. "Get down on your knees and beg me to spare him."

"O Chief... don't lower yourself." Asterix's voice was choked, but the words were clear, borne on the wisp of breeze that rustled the grass, and hardly louder. "He can't kill… any of us… till we get to Rome." Asterix reached out a hand to push himself up; he was unsuccessful, slumping with a soft groan. "Caesar needs his prize… complete."

Vitalstatistix stared. For a split-second, there was nothing but the wind rustling in the grass. Was Asterix making up a fiction? Telling a tall tale to spare him indignity? He wouldn't put it past the self-sacrificing warrior. But one look at the Roman centurion convinced him: the man was livid. Asterix had betrayed the constraints he was working under. The centurion had lost his bargaining edge.

Until he laid an ominous foot on Asterix's kneecap.

"No!" cried Vitalstatistix. The centurion was a big man, his stiff leather sandal completely covering the small Gaul's leg. Asterix grunted, but otherwise made no sound. Smiling smugly, Callus increased the pressure. The villagers murmured as Asterix gritted his teeth and writhed, red in the face with suppressing his pain. "What do you want, Roman? I'll do it!"

Callus was steadily shifting more and more of his weight to the foot that covered Asterix's leg. Asterix writhed, choking back his gasps as his own involuntary movements jarred his cracked and broken ribs. The centurion side-eyed Vitalstatistix, smiling. "Oh, just beg me on bended knee for mercy."

"No, don't!" Asterix choked out.

"Still giving orders, Gaul, I see." Callus lifted his foot, then stamped on Asterix's knee. Asterix let out a choked scream as the joint snapped with an audible _crack._

Through the villagers' cries and shouts behind him, Vitalstatistix dropped to his knees. He opened his mouth and let words spill out, the crack of bone still ringing in his ears. "Roman. I—we—we regret any—everything. Stop this, I beg of you, stop it, that's enough. We'll do whatever you want." Asterix was shuddering convulsively; his face was a rictus of agony, head lashing from side to side in the dust. "Please, I beg of you. Don't hurt him anymore. Please." What was it the centurion had wanted him to say? "Show mercy."

Callus looked at him for a long time. Vitalstatistix hurriedly lowered his gaze, as befitted a vanquished enemy. Asterix's choked breathing goaded him on. "We repent," he babbled. "We regret…" he searched for a phrase, "…defying the might of Rome." Words were words, they meant nothing, you learned that in battle when a man's guts spilled out. The sickening crack of Asterix's kneecap shattering would haunt Vitalstatistix's dreams. "Please. Don't hurt him anymore."

Finally, the Roman nodded. "Get up, Gaul."

Vitalstatistix scrambled to his feet, only to find that it was Asterix the centurion meant. At the taunt, Asterix made a valiant effort to rise. It was painful to watch as he twitched in the dirt, body unable to obey his commands. His hands were still clenched tightly over his ribs, the injury beneath his trouser-leg already swelling to obscene proportions; his teeth were bared and eyes squeezed shut to keep from crying out. Drying blood still dribbled sluggishly from his battered face. The centurion took a long, satisfied look at Asterix, then turned to Vitalstatistix. "You too, chieftain. Get your Gauls behind you and get moving." Without further ado, he turned away. "Form a phalanx with the prisoners in the center! We'll start marching and meet the Inspector-General halfway. That will make a good impression."

Clouds of dust rose up in the air, thick with the sound of vibrating metal as the rank-and-file of legionaries bustled about, taking up formation around the Gauls. But the Gauls only had eyes for Asterix. In addition to their shackles, the villagers were chained together in groups of four or five. It should have made moving difficult, but when Vitalstatistix broke away from the larger knot of people to go to their injured comrade, he felt the others come with him easily. He was chained in a five-Gaul unit comprising himself, Impedimenta, Fulliautomatix, Geriatrix and Cacofonix the bard. Each of them had around three feet of play in the chains that bound them one to the other, making it easier, thank Toutatis, to move. "Fulliautomatix, can you carry him?" asked Vitalstatistix. His voice sounded strangely soft to his own ears.

The Romans were closing in. There was no time. "Come on, Gauls, come on, hurry up!"

"Of course." Fulliautomatix's voice had the same softness to it. He knelt, the other Gauls bending to allow his chains maximum play. The blacksmith spread his leather apron across his big forearms like a hammock, and placed the makeshift stretcher next to Asterix. "Slide him in," he commanded, but it came out a sigh.

Many hands reached out to help. At the sensation of hands slipping gently beneath him and handling him with care, Asterix's eyelids fluttered. His eyes were swollen shut, though, and he was too weak to force them open. "Ob…e…" he slurred. "'at y…?"

"No, Asterix," Vitalstatistix choked. "It's us."

"When I see Obelix," muttered Fulliautomatix darkly, "I swear to all the gods I'm going to thump him."

"It's all right, Asterix," said Vitalstatistix. "We're here. We're with you. Just let us do all the work."

"You should… go on ahead, O Chief." Asterix's voice was a whisper. "I'll… catch up."

"Last I heard, _I_ was the chief," Vitalstatistix said, a little tartly. "Don't give orders. Just follow them. Let us carry you. Is that clear?"

At the stern words, Asterix closed his eyes and turned his head away. "I'm sorry," Asterix muttered. "…dishonored you."

"What!" Cacofonix burst out, almost in unison with Fulliautomatix. But Vitalstatistix barely heard them. Asterix's words didn't make sense—not unless you noticed, as he turned his head, beneath the bruises, the blistering handprint on his cheek and neck. The mark of a slave. _Beg for mercy._ Asterix was feeling guilty that he, Vitalstatistix, in his capacity as village chief, had been made to abase himself – or at least that was how Asterix saw it.

"Hurry up, Gauls! Or we'll make you move!"

"Asterix." Vitalstatistix brushed a hand over Asterix's hair. Where was the warrior's helmet? Too late to go looking for it now. "This wasn't your doing." He took Asterix's hand. "Empty words are empty words, remember that."

"Yes… O Chief."

"Remember something else, Asterix." Vitalstatistix forced a chuckle. "These Romans are crazy."

"You said it…" Asterix went slack, slumping into the makeshift cradle. By now, Asterix was safely settled in the leather apron. The chief nodded, and Fulliautomatix stood, keeping Asterix's broken leg as straight as possible, supporting him against his aproned chest.

Asterix cried out. The chief flinched, thinking it was a cry of pain. "Easy, Fulliautomatix!"

But then Asterix motioned him closer. "No… O Chief…" he gasped. "Please…"

"Yes?" Vitalstatistix, Fulliautomatix and other of the village men leaned in.

"Leave Dogm—matix… here," Asterix panted. "He can… find us by scent. In case Getafix or," his swallow was not due to the pain in his body, "or Obelix c—come back."

Always the strategist, Vitalstatistix thought sadly. It was a good idea. Outwardly, he nodded, and took Asterix's hand, squeezing it gently. "Consider it done."

"I'll tell the children to put him down," someone volunteered.

They began to move, the rest of the villagers circling Fulliautomatix protectively. "Be careful with him," Cacofonix put in.

Instead of making any kind of retort, Fulliautomatix nodded gravely. "I will."


	12. Chapter 12

"Are you sure you don't want any more boar? You've only had two."

Although they had been traveling companions now for a full night and half a day, Latraviata still wasn't comfortable calling the big Gaul Obelix by name – it felt like an intimacy she hadn't earned. She wasn't sure why, either. Perhaps it was his voracious appetite or his curiously remote quality – odd to call such a man such a thing, but she felt he was full of secrets, for all he seemed openhearted.

"No, thank you." Obelix seemed to have a similar reticence about calling Latraviata by her own name. "I think I'll just have a nap."

Once the large figure was snoring, curled up in the grass, she wasn't surprised to turn and find Caesar's little worm waiting. Silent as a ghost; or perhaps, like shamans, he had the ability to obscure the natural little sense that alerts us when another is near. "What now?" she asked, just this side of imperious. He might be the envoy of the Emperor himself, but she wasn't about to let him order her around like last night.

Which he immediately did. "Get away," he said. "I need solitude."

"Solitude?" She jerked her head towards Obelix, not budging an inch. "With him snoring like a cart-horse?"

"I need solitude with the Gaul."

Latraviata looked closer at the little spy. She'd been so busy being defiant, she hadn't noticed how weary he sounded. Not commanding at all. Almost… broken. He stood before her issuing instructions, but his shoulders were bowed. Like Atlas. "All right," she said, like a woman granting a request, not obeying an order.

After all, she wasn't obeying. Not this time.

As Caesar's envoy waited, Latraviata slipped around the caravan, trying to look demure and obedient. She planned to make sure he felt completely safe before she came back to find out just what in Minerva's name this Caius Insidius was doing with Obelix the Gaul.

* * *

Insidius slipped into Obelix's dreams. It became easier the more you did it.

His 'feet' slid out from under him. Around him, in his nose, in his mouth, was slimy mud. For a moment, he couldn't breathe.

Panic consumed him. He opened his mouth and gasped, summoning all his will for air. Finally, he breathed. It didn't help: there was a weight crushing his chest, pressing down like a boulder on his heart. His limbs were numb. It reminded him of when his Mater had died, when he had spent a year and more in mourning, when the world had lost its meaning and the darkness had been closing in. That was when he had thrown himself into his work, when he had sought to find meaning in defending his Empire.

But try as he might, he could find nothing to defend in the grief that lay before him. "Obelix," he whispered, trying to find something to hold onto. "You will do well. You will succeed."

For answer, he found nothing but dirt. Doing well meant nothing; success meant nothing. Everything was death. Where there had been sunlight and colour, there was only grey. No plants relieved the sterile earth, colorless as the sky above it. There had been loving hearts, smiling faces: now, everything soft and beautiful and bright was gone with Asterix, only a feeble hope, writhing and flopping about in the dirt like a worm, aching to see him after Obelix's life's journey was over, when he went under the dirt, became one with it.

And Insidius found himself flailing. Normally, faced with sorrow, he attempted to tease out some thread of baser human emotion – pride, offense, greed, lust – that the flesh was heir to. But he could find none of this in here. Not for the first time, he wondered whether Obelix was just too different from the men he had worked on before.

Desperately, he fell to his knees in the dead land. He plunged his hands into the earth, seeking something to hold on to. "Asterix is better with women than you," he whispered, only to be hit with a wave of grief so intense he ended up flat on his back in the dirt. _Let him find joy with a beautiful woman,_ came the desperate wish. _Let him be happy._

Caius Insidius pressed his hands into his temples, tried again. "Asterix is more successful than you." He had given up completely on the self-loathing, and was seeking only some motivation for Obelix to want to be apart from his friend. "He is more respected."

Obelix's poignant love groaned through the painful air. _Of course he is. He's everything that's perfect. Oh, how I wish I could see him again just once more. I hope he's happy. Please, please let him be happy and safe, please that's all I ask please please please._

On his back in the dirt, Caius Insidius stared up at Obelix the Gaul's sunless mind-skies, and was forced to admit what he had sensed before, but ignored out of loyalty to Rome.

The Dream Whisperer had whispered into men's minds for Caesar – not many, not few. He had whispered to senators and generals, to commanders and tribunes. In these men's minds, he had teased out the threads of treason. He had blandished at them with jealousy, desire, self-pity, lust, and love – yes, love, for even corrupt men could love. He had found a handhold wherever a handhold could be found, and struck deep. But none of them, he realized now, had been pure. Purity, he had found out, did not equal virginity. Even the one time he had penetrated the mind of a virgin, he had found darkness: hatred, resentment, loathing. He had turned her against her Iberian beloved, caused her to betray him and steal his secrets, because her heart was not pure.

But in this simple, uneducated Gaul, this man enamored of his food and his simple pleasures, barely able to learn his lessons, was a purity of emotion and a selflessness of spirit he had not encountered before, not in generals, not in warriors.

And Caius Insidius was finding that this was something he could not withstand.

"Obelix!" he cried desperately. "I am your conscience!" His words were thrown back at him, mocking, by the hurricanes of poison that were the big man's pain. It was like screaming into slime, choking, every untruth an agonizing spike in his chest. "Leaving Asterix was the right thing to do!" His voice was sand, gravel that burned through his throat like a sickness. "You did the right thing! It was for the greater good! Listen to your conscience!"

* * *

Latraviata crept around the tent. The Roman lay like a man in a trance, Obelix breathing in unison with him. She would have said it was a shamanic healing ritual, only Obelix bore no injuries, and she was willing to wager the shaman meant him harm.

She glided closer and listened to the broken words coming from Caesar's agent.

And what she heard made her blood run cold.

* * *

Caius could speak no more. Nothing could stand in the face of the love he had destroyed. Desperate, overwhelmed, he lay on his back and stared at the slate-grey skies of Obelix's mind. All he could see was slate-grey grief. All he could feel was the steaming, slimy heat rising from the still-warm corpse of Obelix's heart, writhing in agony in and under the barren dirt of the once-flowering garden of his soul.

 _Asterix,_ was all Obelix's broken heart could say. _Asterix._

Caius sat up. He plunged his hands deep into the soil of Obelix's heart, and recoiled: there was a decomposing cadaver under it. His hands squeezed blood and dead flesh, and such pain as he could not have imagined. He swept his hands under the superficial topsoil, seeking corruption: he found no seed of jealousy or resentment, no desire for anything under the sun but Asterix's health and happiness. He dug his fingers into the bloody earth and scooped up heaping handfuls of spongy loam, closing his hands into fists and crumbling them back into powder. Where had he gone wrong? His entire _plan_ had been to use Obelix's love for Asterix! Nothing had changed. He was on course, his plan was on track. "I knew this was so," he muttered to himself desperately, squeezing and crumbling more handfuls of earth. "I knew his mind, I knew it! How could his love come as a surprise to me? Why, I traded on it! I used it!"

But he was just now discovering that knowing about love in the abstract, even using it as a weapon, was no preparation for encountering a spirit filled with nothing but selfless love. And now he was inside the mind of this innocent man—now he was feeling this love that still survived, untainted, unsullied, in the still-warm corpse of a murdered soul and a shattered world— Caius Insidius realized, with a shock, that he could not continue as he had before.

His hands, still scrabbling in the soil of Obelix's mind-world, hit smooth ceramic. He scooped up the object and swept the dirt off it, soft and moist and crumbling beneath his palms. With a cry, he saw in his hands a small bowl he, Caius, had lost in childhood.

He recognized it: it had been made by a Numidian potter who had hailed from his village. The delicately glazed surface was the pale blue of a bird's egg. Halfway between mug and drinking-bowl, it had two handles on either side. One side bore his name; sure enough, when he turned it over, the other side bore his mother's. But he had betrayed his mother, betrayed the gift of healing he had from her bloodline, had used it to hurt, not to heal. He was no longer worthy. He trembled as he looked into the receptacle, fully expecting blood. The damned had only blood to drink.

Instead, his cup was filled with clear, pure water.

Caius Insidius sobbed aloud. His vision blurred with tears at the mercy he had been shown from the gods. To ignore it would be to rupture the bond with his Mater forevermore, to be barred from seeing her in the afterlife. He drank deep of the blessing he had been given, then fell back, looking at the sky, knowing what he would see.

He saw her face, her beautiful, loving brown eyes. But it was not angry, but smiling and gentle. "My Caius, my beloved child," she murmured. He cried out and wept to hear her voice. It carved fresh cracks in the parched earth of his heart. "It is not too late. Do what must be done."

He leapt up, supplicating. "What? What is it?"

"I cannot say, my Caius."

"But how can I do it if I don't know what it is!"

"It will be shown to you."

"Mater!"

She was gone.

Beside himself, Caius Insidius jackknifed up from the dream, fully awake in an instant.

It only lasted an instant. Latraviata swung her spade. It impacted the back of his head, and Caius fell into a blackness where no dreams could reach.


	13. Chapter 13

Credit where credit's due: Quite a bit of this segment was written by CrazyBeaver when we first thought up this story together.

* * *

"WHAT is the MEANING of this?"

Inspector-General Judicius was livid. They had encountered his sedan chair not two _milia passum_ from the village, and on alighting to inspect the prisoners, he had found one of them damaged. "I thought my express orders were to deliver them in perfect condition to Caesar!"

"Well," the Centurion shrugged, "we can't stop those barbarians from fighting each other, can we?"

"Liar!" bellowed Geriatrix. "As if we'd do that to Asterix!" His wife shushed him as he kept on shouting. "It was those legionaries over there, that great hoodlum with the yellow hair looking as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, and the two little shrimps on either side of him!"

The Inspector-General's piercing glare would have put a Corsican to shame. "Did you lie to me, Centurion?"

Callus took a half-step back, then visibly caught himself with an ingratiating smile. "No, no, Inspector! It might be that something happened… a great many villagers, a great many legionaries… Impossible to prevent a scuffle here and there, you know!"

Inspector-General Judicius paced slowly up and down the line of legionaries standing to attention. He stopped before Sebaceus. "You're docked thirty days' pay, legionary. And the two of you, too. Do you have anything to say for yourselves?"

"No sir!" they chorused in unison.

"Good." The Inspector-General turned away, then whirled. "And you had better hope that this old Gaul doesn't die of a heart attack before we get to Rome," he pointed, "because if he has so much as a headache, you'll find yourself in the circus! IS THAT CLEAR?"

"Yes SIR!" the legionaries chorused again.

As Judicius turned away, the tall legionary, Sebaceus, muttered, "Wouldn't have touched him anyway. We know whose fault it really is."

The skinnier of the two shorter legionaries, Sudoriferus, leaned over to his friends. "Should have killed him when we had the chance. He'd be buried by now, and the Inspector-General none the wiser."

"O Roman!" called Vitalstatistix. "I ask you to remove the chains from our warrior. You can see he poses no threat."

Inspector-General Judicius looked at the Gaulish prisoners for a long moment. "I've heard much about you Indomitable Gauls. Too much." He shook his head. "Mercy would dictate that I grant your request, O Gaulish Chieftain, but prudence dictates otherwise." He looked almost regretful. "Request denied."

Vitalstatistix nodded slowly. It had been worth a try.

Falling slowly into place in the spaces between one another, the Gauls formed a marching group and began to prepare for the long trek ahead.

* * *

Drama? Hah! By Persephone and Minerva, drama on the stage had nothing on _men_ when they chose to throw logic to the winds. Here Latraviata was trying to avert a crisis, and all _either_ the Gaul _or_ the Roman could do was weep and wail.

Once she had explained what she'd heard to Obelix, and Caesar's shaman – Dream Whisperer, what a lot of bosh, she knew a shamanic ritual when she saw one – had woken up, it had taken her physically standing before the Roman to prevent Obelix beating him unconscious. Fat lot of good that would have done, when Insidius was the one with all the answers.

Finally, Obelix had understood that since Latraviata was the only one not racked with pain or blinded by emotion, it was best to let her ask the questions. The big Gaul had grown paler and paler as Insidius told a tale that Latraviata would hardly have believed if she hadn't seen it herself, seen him speak to Obelix and heard the Gaul answer in his sleep – a tale of setting friend against friend, of using love to breed hate.

"…and then I convinced him that if he left the village, he would be keeping Asterix safe, and then…" The story poured out of Caius Insidius chronologically, without reservation. "And then I had the Secret Service make contact with you, Miss… um… Latraviata, to make it more plausible to have Obelix leave his village…"

Obelix just listened and wept. Latraviata listened, impressed despite herself at the lengths to which this Caius Insidius had gone. What she couldn't work out, though, was why he was being so cooperative, although he had been working against the Gauls until a few moments ago. Although Obelix the Gaul provided a handy threat to keep him talking if he ceased his confession, it didn't seem at all necessary: Caesar's agent was filled with some kind of inexplicable regret, and seemed positively eager to make amends.

She glanced over at Obelix. Just as well the Roman agent was being cooperative, as the big Gaul didn't seem like much of a threat at the moment. Half-crazed with misery, he just sat, staring into space like the living dead. "I should have talked to him…" he breathed. "I should have told him…" He choked. "Asterix would have listened. Asterix would have known…"

"Oh, shut up." Latraviata turned to Caesar's agent. "And then, after getting Obelix away from the village – what's supposed to happen next?"

"He—he…" The shaman swallowed. "I don't know too much about their plans. But I know they were meant to kidnap the druid, and then capture the villagers once it was certain the place was unguarded."

"I left him… I left him alone…" Obelix blinked hard through his tears. She supposed it was a lot to take in, but this was no time to wallow in emotion. Obelix finally turned to the shaman. "So you weren't really my conscience?" he confirmed. "It was all just a Roman plot?"

"Yes…" the little Numidian nodded. "O Mater…" he murmured to himself, as he had been doing off and on since the spade to the head. _A grown man crying out for his mother, dear Semele, give me strength!_ "Shown to me… How shall I ever make amends…"

"I believed it…" Obelix trembled. "I betrayed Asterix… for nothing…"

"Oh shut up, the pair of you." Latraviata whirled to the Gaul. "Obelix! Pull yourself together! By Persephone, I shouldn't have exposed him as Caesar's agent!" she snapped. "I should have just let you keep believing he was your conscience, if all you can do is reenact Euripides!"

"Who?"

She almost slapped Obelix, but restrained herself. "Look. You're the village's only chance now. We take this miserable worm," Caesar's agent appeared not to protest at his new moniker, "with us, find the druid and rescue your friends. Asterix will be among them." She watched Obelix's face clear at the mention of the dear name.

"I left him," Obelix looked into her eyes, as though begging her to understand. "I _left_ him."

"And when you find him, you can beg his forgiveness to your heart's content."

"I..."

"I wager he'll grant it," Latraviata was fast losing patience and she was not a patient woman to begin with, "but it's best we not wait till they're halfway to Rome and they WILL be halfway to Rome if you don't GET A MOVE ON!"

"The druid was to be taken to one of the fortified camps," Insidius volunteered. "I know that much. Totorum, if I recall."

Latraviata frowned. "Those are well guarded. How shall we get him out of there?"

Obelix looked up for the first time, the shadow of a spark in his eyes. "You can leave that to me."

* * *

As the Gauls marched, everyone's attention was on Asterix. They kept rearranging the marching order to check on his health. Vitalstatistix was finding it hard to get close to him, despite his chains. The villagers all wanted to get close to him, to whisper encouragement and reassurance, and they weren't above elbowing their chief aside to do it. Fulliautomatix was constantly having to slow or modify his pace for the well-wishers. Carrying the tiny warrior was easy for the big blacksmith, and nobody wanted to cause him the agony of moving, so nobody offered to take his burden for the time being: they let him remain in the makeshift litter, and moved around him. Vitalstatistix had to admit to himself that Inspector-General Judicius had been a bit of a disappointment. He hadn't seriously expected the Roman to order his injured Gaulish prisoner out of his shackles and into a litter, even though it had been worth a try.

So they marched on, due to stop in the forest on the way sometime that evening. Vitalstatistix could see why the villagers all wanted to comfort Asterix. They could see how hurt he was – and not just physically. Callus had done his best to break their warrior's will. Vitalstatistix wished he could find some way to let Asterix know that they didn't think any less of him, that he was respected as before.

Bacteria, the fishmonger's wife, shuffled close to where the village warrior hung limply in the arms of her husband's friendly enemy. "Save your strength, Asterix," she said. "We'll need it later."

Vitalstatistix smiled, despite the chains and the desperate situation. _Bless you, Bacteria,_ he thought.

"We believe in you, oh arr, we do," Bucolix said, taking his turn walking alongside Fulliautomatix.

Cacofonix was next. "It's all right. Just get some rest and you'll be right as rain in no time."

One by one, the villagers rallied round, pledging encouragement and compassion. Several miles into the march, Asterix struggled in Fulliautomatix's arms. "Let me…" he muttered. He appeared to be slightly revived, even trying to open his swollen eyes.

"Don't do anything idiotic," was Fulliautomatix's tactful response.

"I should pull my weight at least!" Asterix found the strength to say.

"Oh for heaven's sake," snapped Fulliautomatix. "Look, Asterix. You've taken care of us so many times, just rest now until you can again. All right?"

Vitalstatistix wasn't at all sure that was the right thing to say, but it must have been. Asterix, seemingly calmed, relaxed back into the blacksmith's apron and closed his eyes.

They marched on.


	14. Chapter 14

Even with a broken heart, Obelix the Gaul seemed to enjoy smashing up Roman camps. After Aquarium and Totorum, they were heading to the third camp when a figure all in white emerged from the bushes – backwards – and bumped into them. Obelix's jaw dropped. "Getafix!"

"Obelix!" Getafix hadn't been so glad to see anyone in a long time. "Thank goodness. For a moment, I thought you were a Roman!"

"I thought they had captured you!" Obelix cried.

"They did." Getafix felt his grin turn smug. "I convinced the Roman guarding me that I could make him Caesar, _if_ he let me out to find the ingredients for the potion." He tucked his golden sickle more securely into his belt. "Not the sharpest sickle in the rack, poor chap. I wager his commanding officer will not be pleased."

Out of the bushes behind Obelix stepped the Roman actress named Latraviata. "You!" Getafix yelled. As if that wasn't enough, the Numidian agent of Caesar's was behind her. The Romans who'd caught Getafix had been a bit short on details, but they'd certainly wasted no time boasting how their female agent and Numidian spy would bring down the village. "Obelix!" snapped Getafix. "They were sent to destroy our village!"

At the same exact moment, the Roman diva blurted in unison with him, "I was sent to destroy your village!"

She and Getafix blinked at each other. "I was," she said urgently, "but I didn't know it. We can still save it."

"And I," the small Numidian spoke up, "shall remain with you until it is shown to me what to do."

Getafix stared from one to the other, jaw dropping. Obelix blurted, "And I need to find Asterix and tell him I was wrong!" He started to cry again.

"Let's get to the village," Latraviata said to Getafix. "I'll explain everything on the way. If we're lucky, we might not be too late."

* * *

They were, of course.

They froze at the entrance to the village. It was silent and still, a faint odor of smoke hanging heavy in the air. As they stood, a tiny figure appeared in the dust. Dogmatix ran up to them, whimpering.

"Dogmatix!" Obelix held out his arms and the little dog bounded in. He had no sooner jumped up than he jumped down again, unable to settle. The three humans followed the dog as he ran inside...

The paths were unswept, lined with debris. The smell of smoke was everywhere. The streets were deserted. Unhygienix's fish lay abandoned, rotting in the sun; the fire had gone cold in Fulliautomatix's foundry. Getafix's hut stood silent, and Cacofonix's broken lyre lay in the dust.

Obelix's heart went cold. "ASTERIX!"

He rushed to Asterix's hut, in and out like a whirlwind. Nothing: no trace of his friend. He ran desperately through the village, calling Asterix's name, while Getafix accompanied him, calling for anyone and everyone.

Caius Insidius could almost feel the terror emanating from the big man. He had no clue whether this was a result of having entered his dreams; he had never hung around those whose slumber he entered long enough to find out. Burdened with Obelix's agony and guilt, he stood in the middle of the desolate village square, and breathed.

…the woman was tugging at his sleeve. "Move."

The little dog was whimpering and running in circles, clearly wanting them to come with him. The druid and the big Gaul followed, Insidius and the actress on their heels.

They arrived in a small clearing behind a waterfall. From the way the earth was disturbed and an indefinable tang of iron, it was most probably the place where the villagers were captured and chained by the Romans. There was nothing to go on really, no artifacts. Just the signs of a scuffle, some footprints, a discarded sword, a single broken link from the forging of a chain, and a line of dried pellets... leading to a helmet that was so distinctive that even the two Romans recognized it.

Dogmatix ran up to the helmet and howled. Obelix let out a hoarse cry and fell to his knees in the dirt, picking up the helmet and turning it over in his hands. The wings were slightly singed around the edges. "Asterix," he sobbed. "Asterix, I'm sorry, I'm sorry I left you, please be all right, I'm sorry!"

It was Getafix who bent to the dried pellets. Everything he'd seen since arriving in the village had raised more questions than it answered. The Roman woman had told him there was a convoluted plot against them, but not its exact nature, and even knowing this had not helped with the question: _Where are my friends now?_ He still held on to the hope that Dogmatix could nose them out.

"I'll be a better friend, I promise! I'll never leave you again, never, never! Please, Asterix, please be all right!"

That, and the question: What were these pellets around Asterix's helmet? He knew the answer already, and wished he didn't. He bent and picked one up, rubbing it between his fingers. It was half-dry already, and when he squeezed it, it yielded a brownish smear.

Blood, then. A few hours old, by all indications. Getafix sternly tamped down the emotion threatening to well up. The droplets seemed to lead right to Asterix's helmet: the conclusion was easy to draw. But he didn't tell Obelix. Not yet.

He bent instead to the dog. Blood was a powerful scent, easy enough for a dog to locate. "Can you find them, Dogmatix?"

Dogmatix nodded his little doggie head, eyes wide with worry. "Good dog." He looked up. "All of you, come to my hut," Getafix rapped out. He hurried around the back door, starting to gather the ingredients for two potions: the magic potion, and the elixir that healed. He could guess he was going to need both of them. "Obelix, come into the house and start a fire!"

Obelix shuffled in. He'd scooped up Asterix's sword as well, and had been standing there holding Asterix's things and muttering about abandoning him. Blindly, he took up a block of wood and a bow, and spun the spindle. With his strength, the embers sparked almost instantly. He slid back into his numb state immediately, staring into the flames as they leapt up beneath the cauldron.

As Getafix stirred the cauldrons and prepared the potions, the two Romans sat on the bench next to the druid's fireplace, and the Roman spy retold the entire story for Getafix's benefit. "It started when Caesar was pressured to do something about your village, and we decided to fight you by entering this Gaul, Obelix's, dreams, and drive a wedge between him and Asterix…"

Obelix listened quietly: his rage at the Roman agent had died out, leaving only cold fear for Asterix, and rage against himself. Because it was his fault, all his.

Yes, he had listened to the Whisperer, and left Asterix on a lie... but that was still leaving Asterix. The man might be a Roman, he might have been lying about being Obelix's conscience, but his words were still true. Obelix _had_ always been a bad friend to Asterix. He _had_ left him, time and time again. Everything the Roman had said was the truth: Obelix was nothing but a brainless lump of muscle. He had no right to even be Asterix's friend. He embarrassed Asterix, left him time and time again, treated him badly. Obelix was a betrayer, he was the worst kind of friend. And now? He'd cut Asterix to the bone with lies, broken his heart, crushed his spirit, and finally abandoned him—left him alone when he needed him most. And Asterix was captured, maybe even hurt... He brushed a fingertip through the feathers on Asterix's helmet softly, and cried.

"Can't I go on ahead and find him?" he'd asked the druid. "And come back for you after?"

"I will need you to carry the potion," said Getafix, "and we don't know how far away they are. Wait here with us and we'll go together."

Getafix was aware he hadn't told Obelix the whole truth. It was not entirely out of kindness that he didn't want to tell him about the blood. Of course he didn't want to crush Obelix even more, but it wasn't just that. It was that he was well aware that someone, most probably Asterix, would be needing his help when they got there... might even be be beyond help. Maybe, even, more than one person; he didn't know if the others had bloodless injuries. And… "Help me stir this cauldron?" He stood back as Obelix stirred the magic potion with the force of a whirlwind.

No, Getafix hadn't lied to Obelix. He _did_ need him to carry the potion. The thing was, even if the villagers hadn't been taken far, it wasn't about distance. He knew Obelix was dependable, but he couldn't _quite_ trust him to hold it together enough to come back for him, the potion, or anything else, if Obelix did go on ahead and find out that Asterix... was gone.

He hoped to Toutatis that that hasn't happened; he loved Asterix like a son.

The sun was hanging low in the sky now. Nights were not kind to those in captivity. Getafix stirred the healing elixir, strong and regular, tried to stay calm, and hoped the potions would be ready soon.

* * *

The marchers came to a clearing. Soft grass gleamed in the silver moonlight and a chuckling brook bubbled clear and sweet in the shadows between the trees. "Halt!" called Centurion Callus. Moments earlier, the Inspector-General had called the centurion over to his sedan chair, and Vitalstatistix had heard the senior official's voice barking orders through the curtains. He was unsurprised, therefore, when the command came to stop for the night.

Inspector-General Judicius was housed in a large tent that sprang up as though by magic, thanks to the efficiency of the Roman Army. Smaller tents were pitched to house the Centurion and the Romans, but the prisoners were merely deposited next to a big oak, the Roman threading a new chain through the Gauls' old ones to secure them en masse to the tree.

It might have been Mrs Geriatrix who first discovered that there was enough play in their chains to reach the little stream. When the Romans gave them bread for their dinner rations, they arranged themselves in their bound groups, and moved around one by one to drink and wash their hands, faces and travel-dusty feet. The children, chained to their parents, made little hiccups and squeaks as they were bathed. One or two of the younger ones wailed. Vitalstatistix didn't blame them. He felt a bit like wailing himself.

Finally, it was Vitalstatistix's turn, with his group, at the stream. As chief, he'd insisted on going last, and Impedimenta and the five people tied to him had strongly taken his part. First, of course, they made a drinking-horn out of a piece of the blacksmith's leather apron, and gave Asterix water, Vitalstatistix holding his head up while Fulliautomatix supported him. Asterix drank deeply, then looked up at Fulliautomatix. Hampered by the injured man he was carrying, the blacksmith couldn't really bend to the water. "Put me down," Asterix said. The rest, and the water, appeared to have done him good: his voice wasn't as weak as before, and he sounded more like himself. "Come on, Fulliautomatix, don't be a stubborn ox, you need to drink too. I can rest just as well on the grass."

Finally succumbing to Asterix's logic, Fulliautomatix bent, carefully lowering his apron. Cacofonix moved closer to the pair, reaching out. "Can I help?"

"As long as you don't sing," Fulliautomatix muttered pro forma. Cacofonix ignored the dig, helping keep the apron taut as the would-be music critic knelt with Asterix in his arms. He helped Fulliautomatix lower his apron and its occupant to the ground. "Untie this thing, would you?" Cacofonix untied the apron from around Fulliautomatix's waist, and held the apron motionless again as Fulliautomatix ducked his head to slip out of the neck-loop, leaving Asterix with a soft leather 'sheet' protecting him from the damp grass. The big man straightened, taking a moment to disentangle his chains from the ties of his apron, and stretched. "There."

"Good work. Go and wash up, now. You'll need your strength." Vitalstatistix left Fulliautomatix to it, and approached Asterix.

The moonlight reflected off Asterix's face, grimacing set and tight as Cacofonix fussed around the apron, trying to make him more comfortable. Vitalstatistix gentled his voice. "Are you in pain?" What a stupid question! The man's knee was broken! Of course he was in pain!

"I'm all right, O Chief. It's just," Asterix took a breath, then winced. Clearly his knee wasn't the only thing that was hurting him. "Well. It's galling being helpless like this."

"You're not helpless! You—"

"Move aside." A feminine voice, tart and sympathetic all in one. Only Impedimenta.

Impedimenta had taken off her petticoat and soaked it in the stream. Briskly, to hide her emotion, but gently, she started cleaning the dried blood off Asterix's face. "None of that nonsense, now," she commanded. "Just keep still and let us do all the work."

Vitalstatistix watched, then was struck by inspiration. "Asterix. You're still our warrior."

"Some warrior…"

"No, listen. Did I stop being your chief when I had to go to the hydro?"

Asterix grimaced. Vitalstatistix kicked himself: Asterix had spent a great deal of time with Obelix on that adventure. He was probably thinking of his fair-weather friend. "Answer me," Vitalstatistix urged.

"No, but..." Asterix turned his head to the side, the centurion's handprint still clearly visible on his face. His slit-swollen eyes looked up at the treetops, at the moonlight. He looked as though he was seeing memories.

Vitalstatistix reached out hesitantly, thinking what he had seen Obelix do on the rare occasions Asterix had been injured. He took Asterix's hand as his false friend had once done, and patted it. Rage surged through him: how had Obelix done this? How had he found it in his heart to abandon his best and closest friend, how had he allowed him to get this hurt?

Vitalstatistix knew that his rage at Obelix hid his chagrin at his own self: as village chief, he should have been a better judge of character. As chief, he was supposed to know human nature! The last thing he would ever have thought was that Obelix would abandon his best friend. But here Asterix lay, abandoned by his brother in arms, broken not only in body but in spirit, and it was up to them all to stand by him.

"Asterix," Vitalstatistix urged gently. "Rest, our warrior. Until you're ready to defend us again."

"Isn't that touching."

Legionary Sebaceus and his friends stepped out from behind the big oak. "Time to finish what the centurion interrupted," said one of the legionaries who'd kicked Asterix before.

Vitalstatistix scrambled to his feet. "Get away from him!"

"Move aside, barbarian. We've got a month's pay to take out of his hide."

Vitalstatistix hadn't realized he was shielding Asterix, but maybe he was, and so what? The frozen tableau of the villagers around him, moonlight glinting off their chains, fear and resentment in their eyes, gave him courage. "Are you seriously going to hurt a man in his condition? Have some—" His words dried up in his throat as the point of a spear pressed into his solar plexus. But then outrage surged up again. "And what in the name of all the gods is it with you and pointing weapons at me!"

"Grown a spine, our chubby chief, hasn't he, Sebaceus?"

"Looks as though he has, Sudoriferus."

The point of the spear pressed in tighter. "Wonder how that spine would look with a bit of iron sticking out of it. One barbarian isn't any great loss, after all."

"Stop!" How Asterix managed to sound commanding in his condition, Vitalstatistix would never know. He turned to Asterix, who was looking up at the legionaries, earnestness in his slitted-shut eyes. "I am ready, O Romans."

"Asterix, no!"

"It's all right, O Chief. I'll be all right."

Sharp metal still pressing into his chest, Vitalstatistix slumped in despair as the legionaries commanded Asterix to stand. He couldn't, of course.

Finally, they dragged him off.


	15. Chapter 15

So much gratitude to Pilyarquitect, to Filosofieke, to Fan de Basil de Baker Street, who understands Asterix's character really well, and new reader Lonely Wolf, for all your encouraging words. And to CrazyBeaver, always.

* * *

The Gauls, who had gathered at the noise, remained standing there, their eyes wide with fear. Some were still sitting or reclining, roused from sleep; the first of the villagers to use the stream were already deep in exhausted slumber. Vitalstatistix felt hands clinging to his arm: Impedimenta was holding onto him tight. For a moment, he feared they would hear the sounds of an execution.

In some ways, what they heard was worse.

They first heard words. "Anything to say before we get started?"

"I have nothing to say... to cowards. Only a coward would... hit a bound man." Asterix's voice was weak, but perfectly clear, his words formal in the extreme. "You fear what I would do to you, were I free of my chains."

"Oh! Well, if you say so..." There was the rattling of chains. "There! Now you are unbound. Fight like a man!"

"I doubt you would... grant me a sword, Roman."

"Only where the sun doesn't shine!" The legionaries burst into laughter. "That's about enough of your babbling..." And there was the sound of a dull thud, and a grunt. It was followed by more thuds - muted, flesh striking flesh. After the first grunt, there was only the sound of heavy breathing; whose, they could not tell.

Vitalstatistix clenched his teeth, feeling the bard's hands dig into his shoulder convulsively with each sound of flesh on flesh. Some of the women were crying It made no sense! They should be relieved Asterix wasn't being killed! But the legionaries might kill him anyway... afterwards. Or he could die from the beating. Vitalstatistix winced, almost in pain himself. "I'll—" another blow— "make you scream yet—you—stubborn—pigheaded Gaul!"

In response, there was a choked murmur. A chill went through all of them at the realization that it was Asterix's voice. "There are two reasons…" a wet cough, "why I wouldn't… do that, Roman."

"Oh, pray enlighten us."

"One… I wouldn't give you the satisfaction. And two… If I must die, I'll… spare my friends… the sound of it."

"Oh, you'll wish you were dead." There was the sound of a blow, and a gasp, quickly cut off. "You'll—beg—for death—you'll—scream…" The Roman's words were punctuated with blows. Asterix's grunts were plainly audible. Vitalstatistix wanted to call out to the pigheaded idiot to cry out, damn it, give them their satisfaction already! But he knew Asterix never would. Still, the heavy breathing was punctuated with grunts and gasps. Finally, they heard a whimper. Now some of the men were crying, too.

There was a moment's silence. Vitalstatistix sent up a prayer of thanks that it was over. Then there was a mutter, "Hang on, Sebaceus, my blasted sandal's fallen off. Just let me find it and then I'll have a go at him."

Cacofonix suddenly burst into song. Thunder rumbled overhead.

"What are you doing, you—" Fulliautomatix whipped round to the bard, eyes wide with fear. He raised his hand to silence Cacofonix, but the bard had had the foresight to wrap his chains round a tree-root. The blacksmith fumbled with the metal links in the dark, cursing in frustration. "By all the gods! Somebody shut him UP!"

"O warriors, O warriors, now into battle proudly march!

O warriors, join hands and raise them in triumphal arch!"

"Shut up! Are you mad?!"

"Cacofonix! As chief, I order you to—"

Cacofonix kept right on singing. He couldn't stand it any longer. Whether or not his voice was appreciated by these Roman barbarians, it would at least wake the Inspector-General, and he would put a stop to this torture. Keeping the victims healthy for Caesar had worked once; maybe it would work again. He had no lyre, but he made up for it in raised voice. "O WARRIORS—"

"Shut UP! It's about time we got rid of you, you infernal nuisance, you thrice-damned—" A legionary lunged for him, sword drawn. Cacofonix swung out with his chain in a defensive move, the villagers next to him yelling and clamoring. The man fell on him at an angle, and there was a piercing pain in his right side.

 _"_ _Cacofonix!"_ a male voice yelled. Chains clanged above him. Through the red pain that subsumed all his senses, he vaguely sensed it as strong arms caught him.

Above him, the Inspector General's voice was yelling. "WHAT'S ALL THIS?"

"Well, that is to say, Inspector-General, sir, we—"

"IT'S A GOOD THING THAT INFERNAL RACKET WOKE ME UP! AND WHAT DO I FIND?"

The pain in Cacofonix's side receded in the face of this insult. "Infernal… racket?" he gasped. True, he had meant to rouse the Inspector-General from his slumber – maybe he'd harbored some faint hope that he would actually enjoy his song of inspiration for warriors in battle – but he'd hardly expected such slurs. Barbarians, the lot of them. He slumped backwards in the arms that held him.

Meanwhile, the Inspector-General thundered on. "WHAT IN JUPITER'S NAME IS GOING ON HERE? What do you think Caesar would say if he found you taking liberties with his personal prisoners? Think he'd be pleased?"

"Well, sir, no, sir, that is to say, sir—"

"PUT HIM BACK! NOW! And bring these legionaries to my tent!"

As they moved off, the Inspector-General still yelling about discipline and the lions and the circus, Fulliautomatix ignored him. "Cacofonix," he whispered, hand pressed tight over the bleeding wound in the bard's side. There was noise and clamor about him, but Fulliautomatix had eyes only for the self-destructive idiot who'd brought this down on himself. "If anything happens to you," he muttered, "I'll kill you."

There were heavy footsteps, and in the darkness, figures approached. The same legionary who took Asterix was the one who brought him back. He threw him to the ground like a corpse, not bothering to chain him up. Many hands were there to catch him.

Vitalstatistix approached. Asterix was near death, but – _by all the gods, please no_ – still conscious. The black tunic, already dusty from the earlier beating its owner had received, now hung in tatters, the gaps in the fabric revealing abraded and bloody skin, the imprint of feet almost completely covering Asterix's small torso. There were more dust-formed footprints on his blood-darkened trousers.

"His leg…" whispered someone.

The damnable bullies had not spared his shattered limb: there were footprints there too. One red trouser-leg was stretched to bursting, flesh so swollen it was as if the fabric was stuffed with something other than human. "O Asterix…" the chief muttered, kneeling heavily to his friend.

Asterix's split, puffy lips parted, clearly trying to speak. He couldn't. He tried again.

"Asterix! Take it easy, by all the gods!" The chief had seen men with less severe injuries dead already, and Vitalstatistix was terrified Asterix would expire as they looked on. How was he even breathing? His nose was bruised and dripping blood. He fought to inhale through cracked lungs, each breath accompanied by a frightening wheeze.

The villagers blinked as he _smiled_.

"Chief..." Asterix turned his head towards his chief by hearing alone, his eyes completely swollen shut. His voice was a rasp. "Here..."

And he opened his tightly clenched fist to reveal the key to their chains.

Vitalstatistix, struck dumb, bowed his head, taking the gift paid for in blood. "O Asterix," he choked, then could say no more. He concealed the prize in the palm of his hand as Impedimenta shuffled over, hampered by her fetters, to see what little she could do, and the village women clustered around Asterix as best their chains would allow. Vitalstatistix turned back to his village warrior. "Asterix." The thoughts in his head could not but find voice. "Asterix, this was—the price was too high."

"There _is_ no price too high…" Asterix had to stop and gasp for air a moment, "…for… for liberty." Impedimenta patted the blood off his face with her petticoat. Mrs. Geriatrix knelt and placed his head in her lap. Her husband showed no sign of jealousy, instead standing solemn and silent next to his wife. "Listen… O Chief," Asterix went on.

"Save your strength, Asterix, for the love of all the gods."

"L—listen, O Chief. Find… our druid. The Romans will have him. P—probably in one of the fortified camps…" Overcome, Asterix choked. "He'll help you defend the…" His voice faded. "The village… When I'm gone."

"Asterix. Don't talk like that. You'll be with us, you'll help find him, and with one of his potions you'll be right as rain!" Vitalstatistix hated how hearty he sounded, but he couldn't – wouldn't – believe this was happening. Never. Not this way. Never.

Not far from where he was, the blacksmith and others were tending to the bard. Vitalstatistix didn't know how serious it was. He had let his men get hurt. Asterix was… was… He grimaced, holding back tears. He was a failure as a chief.

Asterix smiled – smiled to comfort _him_. "Yes, O Chief, I'll be fine." His eyes slipped closed. "But please… just find our druid."

"We will." Vitalstatistix clutched the key. "As soon as everyone's asleep. It'll be all right. You'll see…" The chief's words trailed off as Asterix's eyes closed and his head lolled to the side. _"Asterix!"_

"Sorry, O Chief… just need some shut-eye…"

Impedimenta patted Asterix's face again. "You take care of things," she said to her husband. "We'll take good care of him, don't worry."

Vitalstatistix clasped the key tight, and listened to the sounds of the Roman camp settling down. He tried it on his own wrist-irons, relieved when the lock clicked open silently. They couldn't afford a sound. He turned to the closest Gaul to him, who happened to be Geriatrix, and unlocked his chains as well. It had just hit him that they couldn't wait for long.

Vitalstatistix thought furiously as the Gauls closest to him undid their chains. Asterix was already unfettered; the next was of course the injured Cacofonix. The last two in the chief's group were Impedimenta and Fulliautomatix, who could barely be pried away from Cacofonix's side long enough to get unchained. Fulliautomatix was cradling the skinny bard in the crook of one arm, pressing a clean cloth tight to the bleeding wound in his side with the other. "Hold on, you nuisance," he muttered, voice rough. "Had to play hero, didn't you? I'm going to thump you for this when you're better, you know."

Cacofonix's head lolled against the blacksmith's apron, which he'd put back on at some point. The bard tried to speak, but his voice was just a raspy whisper. "Save your strength," Fulliautomatix shushed him. He settled him more comfortably in his arms and smoothed the tousled hair off his face. "Just hold on."

The key passed around, quietly, parents unchaining children, wives unchaining husbands. As they did, Vitalstatistix tried to plan their next move.

The Romans would soon realize the key was missing. The legionary wouldn't be rushing to report it missing when it was his fault for losing it – he'd first assume he'd dropped it while they were having their fun – but it wasn't just about getting a head start. Moving at night was always better than moving in the daytime. The Gauls had an advantage in that they knew the forest, and the Romans didn't. Most Romans were scared of anything that wasn't paved over. And as helpless and vulnerable as the villagers were, without potion they had to get as far away as they could.

Vitalstatistix didn't like to think what would happen afterwards.

Without the druid, without Obelix to defend them, without their cunning warrior, they wouldn't be able to return to the village. Such a large group, wandering through the forest, with women and children and old people, would be picked up – or picked _off_ – by the Romans within hours. And if by some miracle they did get back to the village, there would be a cohort – four fortified camps, in fact – ready to chain them up and take them away again. And this time, even if… if Asterix did survive, he would be in no condition to work another miracle and get the key to their chains.

There were only two other options, neither of which was appealing. One was to split up, seek refuge in twos and threes and family groups, and attempt to assimilate into any town under Roman occupation. Blend in, and disappear. The village would be no more.

The second was to establish another village out here – wherever 'here' was – and hope they wouldn't be found, a vain hope at best.

Of course, the third option was the best. _Find our druid._ Getafix would make the potion and save them.

Maybe, maybe he would be able to save Asterix too.


	16. Chapter 16

Note: Thank you for your reviews. Wonderful author Pilyarquitect, my beautiful Filosofie, Lonely Wolf, and Talvec with the fellow-guest. It means more than you know.

* * *

"Lift… that's it… careful. Easy does it, you may be strong, but you can still get burned if you don't watch out!"

Under the druid's watchful eye, Obelix emptied the giant cauldron of magic potion into two massive wooden barrels, then hammered them shut. Getafix poured the healing elixir into a large gourd. "Here we go."

Obelix lifted the barrel into a two-wheeled cart that had been used for hay, and donned the yoke. As he climbed into the cart alongside the druid and the actress, Caius Insidius was shocked to feel himself catching residual wisps of pained thought from Obelix. _Only good for being an ox to pull a cart… Hardly human at all…_ He winced. How could he have done this to another human being? And then another wave of pain. _Asterix._

He blinked. The druid Getafix was speaking to him. "…coming with us?"

Caius set his jaw. "It will be shown to me how to make amends," he said firmly, "and I'm doing it."

Settled in the bed of the cart, the druid said to the tiny dog, "Point, Dogmatix." The dog pointed like a toy bloodhound, the druid said, "Go towards the east, Obelix," and they were on their way.

* * *

"What?"

"The Gauls have escaped!"

"What?" The centurion jerked up from his sleeping-pallet. "Does the Inspector-General know?"

"No, sir, we thought it was only proper to have you tell him…"

"Get out of my sight!" Callus flung the covers aside. "That's just what I need. He'll have my guts for garters." He dressed, thinking furiously. He could order the legionaries out now, in the night, to search for the Gauls, but that meant they would have to risk the wolves and bandits and other creatures in these Jupiter-forsaken forests. Or he could wait till morning, but if the Inspector-General heard that he had waited, he'd—

"CALLUS! WHAT'S THIS I HEAR ABOUT THE PRISONERS ESCAPING?"

The centurion passed a hand over his face. "Oh, great."

* * *

It was funny. Asterix wasn't feeling that much pain anymore.

He was dimly aware that they were escaping through the forest. There was jostling, and movement. Someone was carrying him. By the faint smell of stale fish, it was probably Unhygienix.

Escaping. Good. Good…

The day had been an absolute blur. He hadn't even slept, so in a way it felt like one impossibly long day. Ever since the insane morning with the fires – Toutatis, had it only been today? It felt like years – and then the Romans, and then getting those idiots get the better of him… Only now was he regaining the ability to think. With poignant clarity, he could tell he wasn't going to live much longer. It made him sad to think about it.

Things were fading in and out. He closed his eyes, but jerked awake. He wasn't sure when each time awake would be his last.

He tried to collect himself, taking a breath that tore at his insides. Bringing the pain back made him feel alive. Yes, he might die in the next few hours, but he'd remain who he was till the end. And if he died giving his friends a chance to save themselves… well, at least then he'd have fulfilled his purpose.

But he didn't want to die. Grief filled him at the thought of leaving this world. Life was sweet: the air, the sunshine, the trees. The village, the clear, sharp mornings.

His friends.

Such sadness surged up through Asterix that his pain returned, and he groaned. "Asterix?" The voice was the chief's. "Are we hurting you?"

"N… no," Asterix managed to say. He could tell he was bleeding. "Is…" The maybe-Unhygienix carrying him slowed, and Vitalstatistix leaned closer. He supposed his voice must be pretty low. "Is the blood leaving a trail?" He had to gasp for breath. "You don't want to be found." It hurt his chest to say it, but he must. "It might be wiser to leave me behind. They'll be looking." He hated the thought, but after all, he would die soon, he could feel it, and leaving a trail of blood was just plain stupid. Also, leaving behind an already dying man was prudent in the circumstances.

Dying. He was dying.

It suddenly struck him with unexpected force that this time, he wasn't going to see Obelix come back after getting over a fight, or a love affair. There would be no tearful apologies, no reconciliation. He had seen Obelix in the village for the last time. And they hadn't even said a proper goodbye.

 _On his way to Rome thanks to our plans._ Asterix would never know the details of those plans now. Poor old Obelix. _Time to cut ties._ It was cold comfort to Asterix to know that it had all been a ruse: if Obelix ever found out, he would be crushed. Dear gods, his tenderhearted friend finding out he had caused Asterix's death? It would destroy him.

Asterix was shifted in maybe-Unhygienix's arms. He gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. Something was wrapped around him. In a moment, he felt warmer, less as though his life was leaching away into the cold of the night. "Wh…" he whispered.

"We all donated clothing. So don't worry about, erm, leaving a trail." Vitalstatistix sounded as if he hated what he was saying. "And I'm sure you could do with a bit of warm."

"Yes… thanks, O Chief…" Asterix breathed.

The warmth surrounded him like a cocoon. The pain was drifting away. He relaxed back into the arms holding him. He was so warm and comfortable, it was almost like being with his best friend—

He reached for the pain, found it. It gave him strength. "O Ch—" he choked.

"Save your breath."

Asterix realized it _was_ Unhygienix carrying him – it was his gruff voice that had issued the injunction. He thought of thanking him, but couldn't manage to find the words. "O Chief. Tell—tell Obelix… if you see him…"

Vitalstatistix was close now, judging by his voice. "Asterix, don't…"

But Asterix couldn't not say this. These past few spaces of wakefulness, he'd never been quite sure if this was when he was going to be awake for the last time. "Please give my best to Getafix. And as for Obelix…" He had to get this said. "Tell him… don't blame yourself. Not… his fault."

Vitalstatistix opened his mouth to say something, but Asterix was unconscious again.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. This was no time to break down. Asterix had always been a beacon of inspiration to the villagers. Now that he was unable, it was time for Vitalstatistix to take over his role, to provide them with that spark.

But he couldn't. The best he could do was rearrange the marching order to try to hide the sight from the children.

* * *

"FALL IN! NOW!"

"But Inspector-General, sir, it's dark…"

"The Roman Army, afraid of the dark?! Don't darken my door, or you'll be in my black books sure enough!"

The legionaries lined up, the centurion bellowing at them. "Form a loose phalanx and get out there and find them! Or you'll all find yourselves—IN THE CIRCUS WITH THE LIONS!"

The legionaries moved out.

* * *

Asterix was fading.

Vitalstatistix didn't know how long he would last. They could all see it, could see the life leaving him. The last few times he woke up, he seemed unable to even breathe properly. But he'd been out cold for quite a while now.

They walked on, afraid to make a sound. Even the children understood how bad it was, and kept quiet. There were no complaints, no-one saying they were hungry. Everyone was trying their best for Asterix's sacrifice not to be for nothing.

* * *

Latraviata was clinging to the railing of the small cart with all her might. Obelix was running through the trees faster than some of the horse-drawn carriages she'd been in. The druid was holding the barrels in place with superhuman strength, preventing them from bouncing off the wooden bed. The little dog was yapping.

"We're close," Caesar's shaman muttered. His face was screwed up, as if he was in pain.

They were climbing an incline. As they rose, the trees thinned out, and they crested a small hill. There was a grassy plain, and a view for miles around.

And Gauls. A cluster of forlorn villagers, shambling forward, clinging to hope when they clearly had none left.

The cart screeched to a halt. Latraviata was thrown to the floor of the cart, nearly cracking her head open on the front railing. Around her was what she could only describe as hushed pandemonium. Excited little cries and whispers filled the night air, soft and urgent.

She picked herself up and looked over the lip of the cart, not quite wanting to step out. She could see over the heads of most of the Gauls, thanks to the high construction of the conveyance. The chief embraced the druid, who was hugging him back. Everyone was clustering around Getafix, the village milling about like the flow of water, every face wreathed in smiles of welcome and relief.

Two figures broke through the crowd, each bearing a person. One of them was the big blacksmith, crouched over their bard, whose tunic was stained with blood. The other was a big fellow she wasn't familiar with, carrying—

 _"_ _Asterix!"_


	17. Chapter 17

_"_ _Asterix!"_

The druid elbowed Obelix sharply for silence, even as Caesar's shaman stifled a gasp.

 _Dear gods,_ she thought. _They tortured him._

She couldn't stop staring at Asterix. The only thing that told her he was not dead was that the villagers had not covered his face, beaten to an unrecognizable pulp. So was his body. O Libera, what had they done to him? What had they done in Obelix's absence? What had she, Latraviata, _let_ them do to him?

Obelix was still standing with his back to her, facing Asterix, trembling. "Asterix…" he whispered.

It was a good thing Latraviata could not see Obelix's face. She had the feeling it might turn her, perhaps, to stone.

The villagers were still, as though in some ceremony, all except for Getafix the druid, who turned away and jogged towards the cart. Latraviata swept her hands back and forth in the dark of the cart-bed to find the gourd with the elixir that healed, bumping into the dream-whisperer as she did. He was curled up, muttering to himself, shuddering occasionally.

When she straightened, the frozen tableau was still there. Asterix, shattered, in a villager's arms; Obelix with his back to her; the village blacksmith still in the clearing carrying the injured bard. Arms outstretched, shaking, Obelix took a step forward, then another. The Gaul holding Asterix moved towards him. Obelix reached out carefully, preparing to receive Asterix into his arms.

The blacksmith stepped into his way. "Don't you dare. You're not his friend anymore."

Obelix stopped dead. She couldn't see his face, but she had a front-row seat to the other Gaul's expression: rage and contempt. "You've no right to touch him. You shouldn't even be allowed _near_ him," he snarled at Obelix, who stood frozen in place. "Do you know what _happened_ to him? Do you even care? Or were you too busy running around after what you wanted?"

Obelix said nothing. "No, of course you don't know, how would you?" the other Gaul spat. "Where were you when the Romans were using him as a punching bag? That bastard of a centurion treated him like a slave! He slapped him! _Slapped_ Asterix, _our_ Asterix! And then the legionaries laid into him, beat him until he was more dead than alive. We were all standing there! All except for his fair-weather friend!"

Obelix flinched at his words, as though he were being struck. The little shaman whimpered with each flinch. Suddenly, along with the whimpers, there was a rustle behind her: it was the druid, scrabbling in the cart-bed for the elixir. Latraviata held out the gourd to him behind her back, not really looking in his direction as she watched the drama unfolding in the village.

The blacksmith – she couldn't remember his name – was still raging. "They broke every bone in his body! Look at him. He's barely alive. They broke him into pieces and humiliated him and all we could do was watch. The centurion smashed his knee and he didn't even scream. But he called for you. Do you know that?" Some of the surrounding Gauls nodded, including the chief, who grunted confirmation. But the blacksmith wasn't done. "Do you even care," he ranted, "or did you just not think of what would become of him now you've run off after a pretty face?"

Obelix flinched again, a tiny sound escaping him.

"No…" muttered the little shaman, somewhere at Latraviata's feet. "Wanted to protect him…" Latraviata wasn't sure whether the words were the Roman's or Obelix's at this point. "He's so hurt… Left to keep him safe…" She stared as the little man started to sob, Obelix's shoulders shaking in unison.

"Go on and cry," the blacksmith shouted at Obelix. "Fat lot of good it'll do him! You weren't there. When they were finished with him and they left him for dead…" Tears choked off the blacksmith's rage, but he swallowed and went on. "He called your name. He called for you and you never came."

"Fulliautomatix," the village chief cut in. That was his name, then, Fulliautomatix, thought Latraviata. "Asterix forgave him." Chief Vitalstatistix choked. _"Forgives_ him. Forgives him. He said to tell him," the chief swallowed, "not to blame himself." He looked directly at Obelix. "He said to tell you that it's not your fault."

Obelix dropped to his knees, as if under an unbearable weight. The ground shook.

"Fulliautomatix," the druid said gently. "Asterix needs him." Latraviata admired how the druid had sensibly stepped in at the descending arc of Fulliautomatix's rage, after his ire was spent. "And we need to take care of Cacofonix, too," the druid went on, gesturing to the man in Fulliautomatix's arms, whom he had been cradling with great tenderness all through his tirade, not tightening his grip once. He waited for the blacksmith to subside, then nodded. "Go ahead, Unhygienix."

The blacksmith stepped aside. The fishmonger reverently lowered Asterix's small, broken body into Obelix's outstretched arms.

The villagers were still, looking on without a sound. Getafix the druid parted Asterix's swollen lips, and poured the elixir down him. Asterix's bruises didn't fade, but he shuddered all over. "It will take a moment to take effect," Getafix said tightly. "Bring Cacofonix over here, Fulliautomatix. What are his injuries?"

"The silly idiot," Fulliautomatix's voice hitched, "got in the way of a legionary's sword. I tried to stop the wound, but he's been bleeding for a while, and…" Still carefully cradling his friend, the blacksmith hurried to the druid, who had moved a small distance away. Next to Latraviata, the little shaman moaned in tandem with Obelix.

Caius Insidius had no knowledge of the power that now linked him to the big Gaul even in wakefulness, but the man's suffering was tearing through his insides. He crouched in the bottom of the cart, trying to block it out, but it was relentless. "Asterix?" Obelix whispered. Caius didn't need to see Obelix's face, nor Asterix's injuries. Eyes open or closed, Asterix's image was burned into Obelix's mind, and Caius could see it.

He wasn't sure how he knew, but at the sight of Asterix, Obelix's heart had stuttered, as though punched through the chest. Caius had gasped along with him, Obelix's shock like a punch to his own solar plexus. Gathering his friend into his arms was like taking back a broken-off part of Obelix's soul. All he wanted, all he lived for in this moment, was to comfort, to shelter, to protect. Now that it was too late.

Obelix cradled Asterix's small, shattered body to his chest, gently pressing him to his heart. He flinched at the touch of the bloody, tattered fabric that had once been Asterix's clothing, the wrappings that the villagers had donated falling off him, soaked with blood. _I did this, I did this, I did this. I left him to protect him, and now look at him._

The wind rustled in the treetops as Obelix wept. This was all his doing. He had made Asterix suffer. He'd broken his heart, he'd crushed his beautiful spirit, and then he'd left him alone for the Romans to break his bones. Every wound, every rip in his tunic, every scrap of battered and swollen flesh – and there was hardly an unhurt spot on his body – was his doing as surely as if he'd battered Asterix with his own fists. He'd let himself be tricked, and like the stupid idiot he was, he'd looked Asterix in the eyes and told him he didn't love him anymore. Those poor swollen-shut eyes, Asterix's broken cheekbone and jaw, his—oh, Toutatis, his poor leg—were hurts less terrible than the one he, Obelix, with his own hands, with his own words, had carved into his friend's heart.

Caius Insidius flinched, the waves of Obelix the Gaul's guilt and self-loathing pouring through him by proxy. "Asterix, I never meant…" With a desperate sob, Obelix raised a hand to his best friend's face, stroked his temples, feathered a trembling hand over his broken jawbone and swollen eyes, weeping at the maiming of the most precious thing in his world. He rocked Asterix and sobbed as he searched desperately for an unhurt spot on his friend's body, unable to find a patch of skin not bruised and abraded. "I never… I wanted you to be _safe,_ Asterix… I… oh gods I never…"

Through Obelix's eyes, Caius saw Asterix's eyelids flutter. A jolt of joy pulsed through Obelix. "Asterix!" Smiling through his tears, he brought up a hand to caress a tiny unhurt spot on Asterix's face. But he flinched hard as his fingers brushed the blistered handprint on his friend's cheek where the centurion had struck him.

Asterix flinched at the fresh pain, and Obelix snatched his hand away. The moon came out from behind a cloud, and he shuddered as it revealed more of the damage to his friend's face. The blister, fluid-filled and puffy, lay next to a line of split skin, underlain by a bruise so dark it was almost black. And that was the good side: the other cheekbone was broken. "O Asterix… O Toutatis, you're so badly hurt…" He would never have wanted harm to come to a hair on Asterix's head, and yet here he was, lying shattered in Obelix's arms. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…" Obelix gulped through his sobs. "I shouldn't have left you, I shouldn't have, I'm never leaving you again. Asterix, please, open your eyes. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Asterix trembled feebly and forced his swollen, slitted eyes open. He made a heroic effort to blink, then slumped back into his friend's big arm. "Ob… uh…" he breathed.

"Don't." Obelix was choking on his tears, steadily stroking Asterix's hair, smoothing gentle fingers down his friend's temples. "Asterix, don't talk. Don't move. Please just rest, just take it easy, our druid's here and he'll make everything all right and…"

But Asterix moved again, and he fell silent, not wanting to interrupt his friend. Asterix struggled to speak past the pain of his broken face and swollen eyes. Obelix watched his struggle, gut twisting that he hadn't been there to protect him. "Obe…lix?"

"Yes." Obelix touched Asterix's hand gingerly, afraid to hurt him. "Yes, I'm here. I'm here, Asterix, I'm here." Obelix tried to make Asterix more comfortable in his arms, but how could he, with every inch of Asterix beaten black and blue? And he'd caused it as surely as if it had been his own fists doing the beating. Like the false friend his conscience—the Roman—had said he was. "I'm here," he sobbed. He was here too late, but he was here. "I'm not leaving you. Never leaving you again. Just please… please hold on."

A flood of love and relief and sadness filled Asterix. He didn't know how Obelix had found them, but his best friend was with him, and Asterix wasn't going to die with regrets. It was almost too wonderful to be true: Obelix was here, caressing his aching head, cradling him and comforting him and loving him in his last moments, and he was going to die at peace in his best friend's arms.

But Obelix was crying. That wasn't right.

With the last of his strength, Asterix closed his trembling fingers around Obelix's hand, and was rewarded by a small cry that touched Asterix's heart. He wanted to say 'I'm glad you're here,' he wanted to say 'It was all a plot,' he wanted to say, 'You came for me and that's what matters.' He wanted to say many things, but he only had breath left to say one thing. "Best friends f…forever," he gasped. "N…no regrets."

Obelix's groan seemed to shake the hearts of the trees.

In the cart, Caius Insidius felt Obelix's thoughts coursing through him, felt it all, felt the selflessness of that final confession. Until his half-trance was ruptured by Obelix's cry. _"Asterix!"_

Asterix had lost consciousness again, and Obelix was on his knees, gasping with silent sobs, holding in his grief. It flooded through Caius, linked to him, to them both. Shudders racked Caius as Obelix held Asterix and whispered his name, Obelix's guilt surging through Caius' nerves. He rose without knowing he was moving, alighted from the cart, drawn to the pair like a magnet. The pair _he_ had destroyed.

"Please, Asterix," Obelix gasped. "Please." Obelix looked up at the druid, who was walking up to him, holding the gourd. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, only looking at the older man in supplication.

The druid pushed urgently past Caius, standing next to the man whose dreams he had invaded. "Hold his head, Obelix." Gently, Getafix poured more of the elixir down Asterix's throat.

"The Romans are coming!" a feminine voice loudly whispered, sibilant and carrying. It took Latraviata a moment to realize that the call had come from her.


	18. Chapter 18

This chapter is for Fan de Basil de Baker Street, Lonely Wolf, and above all Pilyarquitect, with all my thanks. And CrazyBeaver, who knows why, always.

* * *

Latraviata's warning was twinned with a bark and growl from the Gauls' tiny dog, who had been crouching silent and trembling next to its master. She had espied them, still standing in her high vantage point in the cart. Her eyes – and voice – had reacted before her brain. Now her arm seemed to move without her volition, too, as she found herself pointing. "From over there!" she called in her best stage-whisper—they needed all the surprise they could get.

The legionaries' helmets glinted in the moonlight, perhaps a mile away, but coming. They hadn't seen her yet; they were among the trees. But soon. The dog, clearly scenting them now, growled again. "Coming fast," she warned.

As Latraviata dropped to her knees, the better to remain out of sight, Getafix had already run back to the cart, rolled out one of the barrels and planted it firmly on the grass. "Over here!" The chief rallied his villagers with admirable precision: for all they looked like rabble, they formed a line in an instant. The druid breached the barrel and dipped a ladle into it which he had no doubt brought for the purpose, and started doling out the magic potion.

She stood, cautiously, again, looking to see how close the legionaries were. She swallowed. There were many, and moving at speed. "They'll be here any minute!" she announced, unable to quite keep the quaver from her voice. She wasn't really accustomed to pitched battle.

"We'll be ready for them," Getafix said, voice low. "Impedimenta, would you be so good as to get the children over to the cart? Pick out a few ladies to look after them too. We may yet need some of the women to fight, depending on how many Romans there are."

Latraviata stared as the chief's wife came over to the cart, mothers and children in an obedient and clearly well-rehearsed line behind her. "Come, come, my dear, you'll be quite safe." Impedimenta smiled at her reassuringly, and if it was a bit strained, no-one could blame her. "The potion is strong stuff—as I'm sure you know." She began to herd the children into the cart. "Why are you still in there? Come on out, I know how city ladies are. I'm sure you'll want to be with Obelix."

With a shock, Latraviata realized that the chief's wife still saw her as Obelix's loving fiancée. And to be honest, Latraviata really didn't have the stomach to reveal herself right now. "Th—thank you," she said, climbing out of the cart. "I'll just…" She gestured vaguely over to where Obelix knelt, back to her, cradling Asterix. Her stomach heaved at the thought of seeing the noble and decent little warrior's injuries up close.

The chief's wife was herding the children into the cart, looking rather harried. Latraviata turned to go. "Latraviata, dear," Impedimenta said, "no offense, but who's the Numidian gentleman?"

Latraviata's eyes flitted to Caesar's shaman, or Caius Insidius, or whatever in Minerva's name he was called. "He's… a friend from – from the theater," she said, gesturing vaguely at Insidius by way of introduction. "He's here… especially for me and Obelix."

That was good enough for the first lady of the village. Latraviata turned her back on the women getting the children to safety and the men drinking the magic potion, and went to where the druid and Insidius were standing next to Obelix.

* * *

The first thing she noticed was Fulliautomatix kneeling by the bard where he lay in the grass. With one big hand, Fulliautomatix was protectively cupping the back of the man's blond head; with the other, he was carefully, almost tenderly, cleaning off the bard's injured side using a wet cloth. "There. Be all right. Be able to thump you soon enough. Just be all right."

Cacofonix the bard lay quite still. His tunic was hitched all the way up, almost to his neck, baring his chest where the wound was – or, rather, where the wound had been. "By Juno," whispered Latraviata. Apparently, the druid's elixir was every bit as miraculous as he said it was: while the bard's tunic was soaked dark red with blood, the swathes of skin cleaned by the cloth came away white and intact and perfect.

"There," the druid smiled. "Good as new."

"He'll be... all right?" The big blacksmith's voice was soft and shaky, profoundly unlike the accusatory tone Latraviata had heard him use earlier.

"The elixir," Getafix the druid explained, "heals small cuts and bruises as if they had never been. With great wounds like Cacofonix's, it's a little different. It can heal them, but if he's lost a lot of blood—"

"By Belenos!" Fulliautomatix looked down at his unconscious friend. "I tried to stop the bleeding, I swear, but there was so much of it and—"

"And a very good job you did of it too," the druid cut in smoothly. "He will be weak for some time; he'll feel the cold more easily, and need someone to make sure he eats well and take care of him..."

"I will," said the blacksmith.

The burly fellow who'd been carrying Asterix chimed in behind him, "And so will I."

"I didn't doubt it," Getafix smiled softly. "With time and care, he'll be as good as new."

"Thank you, O Getafix," said Fulliautomatix. Then he actually buried his face in one hand and scrubbed at his eyes.

"He'll sleep for a while," said Getafix the druid. "Wrap Cacofonix in your apron and join the battle." His face grew sober. "The men need you, Fulliautomatix."

The burly blacksmith nodded. He pulled his friend's tunic down carefully, tucking it in. Then he rose, swaddled Cacofonix in the leather, careful to insulate him from the wet grass, and smoothed his hair back softly before jogging off to join the line for potion.

"Getafix!" Obelix's voice was stuck in his throat, barely a sound. "It's not working!"

Getafix turned back to Obelix. Latraviata and Caesar's little shaman stepped close, as well. It was true: it made her cringe to see it. "He's breathing easier," ventured Caius Insidius.

"Ye—es…" Getafix said slowly.

There was something in the druid's tone that made Latraviata's head snap up. So did Obelix's. So did Insidius'.

The druid was crying.

"I'm afraid… his injuries are too great." Getafix dashed moisture from his eyes, trying to control himself. "I tried, I hoped… I hoped…"

"But—the elixir healed Cacofonix!" Obelix gasped. "You said it could heal anything!"

Getafix shook his head, lips pressed together tight. "Not anything. Not—" He swallowed hard. "It can't heal mortal wounds."

Obelix stared, and pulled Asterix's limp body a little closer to his chest. Within his mind—Caius Insidius had been flashing back and forth lately—he saw Obelix walking by a cliff, Asterix dead, the big man succumbing to an impulse and flinging himself down, down, down…

"…hoped they didn't pierce his lungs too deeply, or damage too many delicate vital organs beyond repair." Getafix seemed to be suffering himself to have to say this. "I hoped the injuries were—mild enough to be treated with the elixir… but I knew there was a chance…" he gulped, "a chance that this would…" He couldn't continue. He buried his face in his hands.

"No…" Obelix's voice was a whisper. He crouched over Asterix, as though willing his life into him. "Asterix. I'm sorry, I love you, Asterix, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, I didn't mean any of it," he gulped, "I'm sorry. I love you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll never leave you again… I'll do anything if you just stay. Asterix, please, please, please…" A great sob took him, but he choked it back, trying to keep Asterix as still and safe as possible. He took Asterix's hand as he held him, bent over it and kissed it, still sobbing. "Please, please, please…"


	19. Chapter 19

For Pilyarquitect, who encourages me to keep going-and knows what's going on. This one's for you.

And thanks to Lonely Wolf and Filosofie for the heartfelt emotions. You touched my heart.

* * *

Latraviata closed her eyes, overcome with regret. She should have told Obelix straight out she had been sent by Caesar. She should have spoken to Asterix. Beyond her closed eyes, the litany of desperation and remorse continued. "I'll stay with you forever, I'll never let anyone keep me away from you again, please, Asterix, please, please, please…"

There were other sounds. The small dog whimpering. Asterix's raspy breathing. Obelix's stifled sobs—and then a thud and a whimper. Caesar's shaman had fallen to his knees.

 _Shaman._

Latraviata's eyes snapped open.

"O Druid," she said, urgently shaking Getafix's arm. "Is there _nothing_ that can be done for Asterix?"

Getafix suddenly looked his true age—very old. "I had hoped the elixir—"

"No, listen. What if there were a shaman available?"

The druid's eyes widened. "In this forest?"

"Never mind logistics!" She turned to face him. "If there _were?"_

"Of course," the druid said slowly, "that would be different."

"Would you know how to guide a shaman?"

"My dear," Getafix said gently, "while actors are known to be second only to the oracles, I doubt that you could…"

"Not _me!"_ She whirled, grabbing the little shaman's shoulders. "Him!"

Caius blinked. So did the druid. Obelix had raised his head and was staring at them, following the conversation with desperate hope.

Getafix nodded slowly, hope dawning in his eyes. "I had no idea you were trained as a shaman."

"I'm not!" Caius blurted desperately. "I don't even know what you're talking about!"

The druid blinked. "Then how do you expect to…?"

Latraviata, never a patient woman, shook the shaman by the shoulders. "You've kept saying "shown me, shown me," haven't you? Well, I'm showing you. Get into Asterix's mind and heal him."

"But how would I even start? I'm not a shaman."

"What's a shaman?" Obelix managed to choke out.

"A shaman, Obelix," the druid said, "is one who heals by entering another's mind, and taking their injuries into themselves, then dissipating… er… making them go away."

"You mean he can help Asterix?!" Obelix cried, as Caius yelled, "Taking on injuries? I've never done that!"

Leaving Getafix to explain it to Obelix, Latraviata turned to Caius. "You don't know it by that name, perhaps," she said. "But has no-one ever told you you could use your talent to heal?"

Caius actually staggered back. "I…" He looked up at her. "Yes. M—my mother told me. Long ago."

"Then do it!" snapped the actress.

"But I can't take on injuries! I don't have the faintest idea where to start!" Caius tapped his head. "Are you out of your mind?"

"This whole mess was because of _your_ instructions!" Latraviata rounded on him. "And mine too! His blood is on _both_ our hands. Do you want to help undo the damage?"

Caius stepped back. "I do… but…"

"Yes, shamans usually apprentice. But your dirty work for Caesar has trained you plenty. You want to undo the damage? Do it!"

The druid nodded. "I would say your experience with dream-whispering will help. And we have nothing to lose."

A wounded sound came from Obelix. Caius looked at the man he had been sent to destroy. Barely breathing, silent tears slipping down his cheeks, Obelix held his friend, and looked at Caius with nothing but supplication. "Please. Do something." He choked. "Help him."

Caius Insidius nodded. He straightened and closed his eyes. His eyelids clung to one another briefly. In that instant, he saw bright brown eyes, and the shadow of a smile.

He reached for Asterix's mind.

* * *

A blank wall blocked him. The spark of consciousness was too feeble, the life inside too frail to support an outsider. He recoiled. Opening his eyes, he saw the druid, Obelix and the actress all staring at him in desperate hope.

"There's too much damage," he gasped. "I can't gain entry."

They looked at each other for a moment. "Obelix, then!" the druid burst out. "Use him as a conduit."

"What?" Obelix and Caius said in unison.

This time it was the actress who spoke. "The way you've been parading in and out of his dreams for nights on end, it should be a doddle to get into his mind! And from there, get into Asterix's. I'm sure they'll be linked. You _have_ seen it, haven't you?"

Caius nodded. He had.

"Then do it."

Getafix narrowed his eyes at Latraviata. "You… could tell they were linked?"

"Oh, come on!" The actress waved an exasperated hand. "It's hardly a secret! All you have to do is look at them."

Obelix's eyes were wide. "You mean… there's a way from my mind into Asterix's?"

"Yes," said the druid.

Obelix looked at Caius again. "Please. Come in. What do I have to do? Just tell me what to do and I'll do it."

Caius looked up at both of them. Then he screwed up his courage. "Close your eyes," he said. It was the first time he'd spoken directly to the man whose dreams he'd invaded.

"Yes, all right, I will. Just help him."

"Wait!" snapped the druid. "Lie down." As they all stared at him, he continued, "Most shamanic healing entails sleep. Do you really want to fall on Asterix and crush him when you drop?"

Obelix's eyes widened in horror. Casting about until he found a big oak, he went over and sat down in the grass with his back against the tree and Asterix resting on his big stomach, his arms loosely bracketing Asterix's unconscious form. Like a tiny shadow, his little dog trotted with him and curled up at his side. Acknowledging it as a good idea, Caius Insidius came with him, and sat by his side against the tree. "Now, close your eyes."

Obelix obeyed.

Caius shut his own eyes and breathed with him, readying himself for the gentle step over the threshold.

* * *

His innards swooped down to his toes as he was dragged in by a savage undertow. "By J—"

The words were choked off in a shattered world of broken shapes and harsh colors. Nothing was real; there was no analogy to anything he'd seen in life. Screaming yellow, red, green; sounds were colors and touch was sight—and pain, everything hurt. He was on a bed of nails.

 _Breathe, my Caius._

He breathed.

Grief, fear, grief, fear, grief—He breathed again. _Black, misery, weight, stone, despair._

The combination of Asterix's pain and Obelix's grief was quicksand, pulling Caius down, disorienting. There was no 'up' or 'down' or any analogue of the outside world anymore, only profound misery and terror. He breathed, struck out. Thinking of it as swimming helped. He needed to find something to hold onto.

Blindly, he reached out, not knowing what for, only trying to understand. He couldn't see in this mix of insane colors and blanketing darkness, but there was something there, felt/seen in this strange mixture of senses: a delicate, shining thread. Without knowing how, he knew that this was Asterix.

He should have thought before reaching out to touch a dying man's consciousness.

It almost finished Caius then and there. Asterix's hurts, physical and emotional, were so terrible that they screeched through Caius' nerves like a lightning-strike, shredding them and filling him with only one _no no no no no no no._

He recoiled.

Much later, apprenticed to a real shaman, Caius learned that the intensity of his recoil was probably the only thing that had prevented him being sucked into Asterix's injuries and killed outright. But then, all he did was curse and yell as he was flung backwards as though he _had_ been struck by lightning.

His head bounced off the tree. Falling sideways, Caius landed on the grass, night around him.

* * *

In the distance were the sounds of a battle. Getafix's and the actress' worried eyes were on him. Obelix blinked and shuddered, as though waking from a nightmare. "Asterix!" cried Obelix, looking eagerly down at his friend. His face fell. "It didn't work," he said miserably. "What went wrong? Can we try again?"

"What happened?" the druid urged. "Tell me in detail."

Caius looked up at Asterix, who appeared unchanged. "It was… I…" He never recalled what halting words he used to describe his experience; he might have let himself lose conscious thought for a moment as he spoke.

"…and then I was thrown out." When he ran out of words, he found his eyes were closed. He opened them, staring at the druid.

The druid was grimacing, as if in pain. "What you describe sounds like something I've heard of. When… when the subject's malady is too grave to be healed."

"No," Obelix moaned.

Caius listened intently to the druid. "It can have this effect, make a shaman lose focus. It can prevent the shaman from finding the injury if a disease has spread too far…" Getafix swallowed, "or if the wounds are too great. If the patient is too far gone."

"No. No, don't say that," pleaded Obelix. "Don't say that." Caius had never seen such terror in a human being as he saw now, in his one-time victim's eyes.

"Obelix," said Getafix gently, "if he went in now, he would not only be unable to save Asterix… he would die. A shaman works by taking the patient's injuries onto himself. These are just… too much. They would kill our Roman friend."

For a moment, Caius was overwhelmed by those words. _Our Roman friend._ Clearly, the druid had forgiven him once he had proved he was on their side. But there was no time for introspection. Obelix, having been thinking as hard as he possibly could, asked the druid, "So he'd help Asterix by taking his… his um bruises and such by – by – by moving them to himself?"

"Yes. But—"

"So instead of Asterix having a broken leg, _he,"_ Obelix stumbled, unable to speak the Roman's name, "he'd have it instead?"

"Yes, but—"

"What about me?"

Getafix stared uncomprehendingly. "Come again?"

"You said Asterix was hurt," Obelix gulped, "too… too badly for _him_ ," he nodded at the Roman, "to help, but what about me? If I was – You said _he_ was going in through my mind, right? So why can't I take some of it for Asterix, instead of him?"

Quietly, Latraviata's mouth fell open.

"That's not how it works, Obe—" the druid began. But he was interrupted by Caius Insidius.

"Maybe it's not how it works, but all this is my fault! I'm not a real shaman anyway, am I? What have we got to lose?"

The actress nodded. "I have to agree."

The druid looked hard at Obelix. "I don't know anything about this. It's never been tried. If you take Asterix's injuries onto yourself, you might not save him—you might die with him."

Obelix pressed his cheek to the crown of Asterix's head. "All right."

"Or you might die from his injuries."

Still with his face buried in Asterix's hair, Obelix raised his eyes. "But he'd live?"

"Possibly. But you'd be _dead!"_

Obelix shrugged, unmoved. "That's all right then, if he'd be all right."

The druid took a deep breath. "On the other hand, the potion might protect you." He looked at both soberly. "Good luck."

Caius breathed in. Time to act as if he knew what he was doing, or at least make less of an imperial mess of this than he had before. "Right. Keep your eyes open for now." Careful not to close his own, Caius laid a hand on Obelix's arm.

Instantly, grief and pain poured through his body. This time, though, Caius stayed grounded in the real world. He looked at everything around him: the moonlight, the treetops, the Gauls. It helped him resist the pull. He breathed deeply. _Mother, give me strength._

He looked up at Obelix. "Close your eyes," he said. "And…" He was making it up as he went along, but this seemed right. Perhaps his mother was guiding him. Or perhaps he was going to get all three of them killed. "Invite me into your mind. I think it'll work better."

Obelix inhaled deeply and looked down at his friend, as though drawing strength from him, before closing his eyes. "Please come into my head and help Asterix," he said simply.

Caius braced himself, and closed his eyes. For the first time, he stepped into Obelix's mind—invited.

* * *

Immediately, he felt a difference. There was no screaming confusion: instead, it was like stepping into a cave of velvet. All around him was soft darkness. The red haze of pain pressing down on him was manageable. Obelix was willingly helping him now, and the big Gaul's strength clearly extended to the mental world. There were still no images, nothing analogous to the forest he had just been in or even Obelix's garden of the past, but at least Caius knew which way was up.

He felt a presence at his side, and reached out. His arm gripped something soft and strong. He knew without being told that it was Obelix's big forearm. He looked, but there was no-one there. This was not the time to wonder if he was still holding Obelix's arm in the real world. No sight, then: only sensation, at least for now. The question thrummed through his mind: _How do I do this? How do I do this?_

Still gripping the strong anchor, he reached out, searching for the luminous thread he had found before. For a moment he felt nothing, and was overcome with the fear of being too late. Had Asterix been dead when they were talking, had he come in here too late?

But no! There it was, a tendril of light. Dim, tattered and riddled with holes, but still there.

 _Now, how do I do this?_ This time, he did not reach out to touch it himself. He tugged on Obelix's arm – or whatever represented his presence in this intangible world – and guided his presence to that of his friend. He felt a need to bind them together, to complete the link.

Now another problem presented itself – how to translate Obelix's touch-presence into something resembling Asterix's light-presence. _How do I do this?_

 _You don't know how, my son. But try, and it will come._

 _Yes, Mater._ Caius' eyes filled with tears. tared at the place where he could feel the softness of the big man's innocent touch, trying to visualize it as light. Obligingly, it began to solidify. He nodded, trying to encourage its formation. "That's it…" he whispered, finding words in this space for the first time. "Come on now…"

Taking a deep breath, Caius stared at the place where he could feel the softness of the big man's innocent touch, trying to visualize it as light. Obligingly, it began to solidify. He nodded, trying to encourage its formation. "That's it…" he whispered, finding words in this space for the first time. "Come on now…" Slowly, the broad swathe of Obelix-essence took on power and light.

Caius stared in awe. While Asterix's light was the bright pale gold of dawn, Obelix's was the deep, warm amber of late afternoon, a ribbon far broader and mellower than Asterix's sharply focused comet-streak. It swirled and rippled sinuously in this mind-space with the lazy, undulating motion of a sea-snake underwater. Or, given how broad it was, like a long, long length from a bolt of golden fabric floating loose under the surface of the sea.

 _How do I..._ Experimentally, Caius moved his arm, trying to guide the light like a snake-charmer. Obelix's light moved obediently. So far, so good. He looked over at Asterix's light—and gasped.

The pale yellow was flickering, feebly guttering like a candle-flame. "Come," he coaxed the amber ribbon urgently. The ribbon hesitated, as if it didn't know how to move. "Come," Caius said again, and looked over at the golden thread that was Asterix.

It wasn't there.

In the few moments he'd turned to speak to Obelix, the light had guttered out entirely.


	20. Chapter 20

"O Druid! Asterix isn't breathing!"

Obelix lay in the damp grass, Asterix still in his arms. The Roman was out cold, and so were the two friends. The battle seemed to be over, but the villagers hadn't yet returned. Latraviata was standing over the pair worriedly. She and the druid had been hovering anxiously, exchanging places, and she had happened to be closer to Asterix than Obelix, when suddenly, Asterix's breath hitched and stopped.

The druid fairly leapt to where Asterix lay. "No. No, Asterix, give them a chance…" He took his younger friend by the shoulders, gripping tight and shaking gently. "Asterix!"

Feebly, Asterix drew in air.

Tears sprang to the druid's eyes. "That's it. Come on, just hold on…"

* * *

The light was out. Asterix was dead.

He'd failed. Caius had failed. Asterix had died, and his blood was on Caius' hands.

Next to him, the amber ribbon of light flickered. Its edges seemed to fray. He turned to it, terrified. He was going to lose both of them—

Something behind him caught his eye. By all the gods, Asterix's light was shining again!

Caius glanced back at Obelix's ribbon.

It was no longer a ribbon—it was a meteor. It streaked past him, lunging for the feeble, golden light. It wrapped itself around it, enveloping it utterly.

* * *

 _Asterix. Asterix. Asterix._

It was all Obelix could think, all he could feel. He had no idea what he was doing or how he was doing it. All he knew was that he was here in this place and was not letting go of his friend, his friend whom he'd seen dying.

Whom he'd seen _die._

The split-second when Asterix's light had winked out had been the worst moment of Obelix's life. He'd opened his eyes – his non-eyes – in a strange new world, soft like a dream, but urgent as life. He'd seen Asterix, instantly recognizing the frail, beautiful light as his best friend, instinctively knowing without knowing _how_ that the light was suffering and damaged and hurt. He'd tried to go to him, but it had taken a moment without arms and legs or moving as he was used to. And in that moment, the light had gone out.

Eyeless, Obelix had stared, and soundlessly he'd screamed as he'd seen his last hope, the thing he'd been living for, disappear. He'd felt his own light fading, and he'd let it.

And then Asterix's light was back.

Obelix flew to Asterix, wrapped himself around him, held him tight enough to fuse them together. He wouldn't let him slip away. If one of them had to disappear, it wouldn't be Asterix, not again, never again. Obelix was with him now, and he was never letting go. "I'm never going to leave you again, ever," he muttered, not knowing how he was speaking. "I'm here and I'm going to take care of you." Fear filled Obelix, but he shoved it away violently. "I'm not leaving. I'm here and I'll get you all better, you'll see."

The frail, damaged light pulsed and flickered in Obelix's hold. Obelix concentrated and poured his light into the gaps and cracks in his friend's light-thread, filling them with his own essence, his own life, clinging urgently to Asterix, whispering broken promises never, ever to leave his side.

The scene shifted.

* * *

"Is anything happening?"

Latraviata looked anxiously at the druid, who was closely inspecting the sleeping pair of friends and their shaman. He paused for a long moment. "I do believe…" He spoke slowly, as though hardly daring to hope. "I do believe Asterix is breathing easier."

* * *

Caius Insidius concentrated. His job was to heal the small warrior by transferring his injuries. He reached blindly for guidance in the dark. He should have a spirit-guide as his mother had told him, but he had nothing… "O Mother," he closed his… well, whatever passed for eyes in this dream-space. "Help me. Hear my call."

 _I love you, my Caius. I love you._

His tears were cleansing, like a gentle rain. "I love you," he choked. "I miss you."

The voice smiled warmly. _I am always with you. Always._

"Can you help? Help me help them?"

 _Help them find physical form. Their love will guide them through the rest._

He gathered his wits about him. "Help them find physical form." How could he do that? By thinking, probably. This dream-world was crazy. Visualizing Asterix's and Obelix's physical forms, he looked over at the two ribbons intertwined, and focused. Finding it hard, he tried to imagine the times he had seen them in the real world. Asterix's loving, pain-filled hazel eyes as he bid his friend goodbye rose to the forefront of his consciousness. Around them, Asterix's image took shape.

The ribbons dissolved. Golden images of the two Gauls blinked into existence, like silhouettes made of light, not shadow. The pair solidified, half-tangible figures made of light. Seeing them made it easier. Caius concentrated on their images, pouring more of his memories into them, making them more concrete. It helped.

"Asterix?"

"Obelix?"

The two Gauls recognized each other's images. The small one's light was still weak and faint, his injuries showing through as gaps of darkness in the light—not like something blocking the luminescence but as though the light itself was torn, like fabric. His head and face, his chest, his poor leg—everywhere that was injured showed as a great rip or hole in his light-silhouette.

As Caius watched, the big Gaul reached out and touched the injuries, one by one—and something shifted. Caius followed the light wherever it led…

* * *

 _Gods, no!_

Obelix's view changed. The dream-world gave way to a scene that seemed like a memory, though it felt real enough: The village was captured. Asterix was being held by two Romans. Someone had threatened a child. Asterix had failed.

Obelix looked around. Everything around them was still, like a mosaic or like the statues he had seen in Rome. These Romans might be crazy, but they certainly made lifelike statues.

"Are these the memories of what happened to Asterix?" he wondered aloud.

 _Yes,_ came the voice of the Roman.

Obelix looked at the scene so still before him. Asterix's pain burned like a fever—the pain he, Obelix, had caused. The pain he was here to take. But how?

 _Would you rather it was you who was hurt?_ Caius asked.

"Yes, of course."

 _Then concentrate on that._ This felt less like shamanic talent to Caius, and more just common sense. Keep _thinking it, and open yourself to it._

* * *

Experimentally, Obelix opened his 'arms', whatever they were. Immediately, Asterix's chagrin and loneliness and misery echoed through Obelix. "Let me," Obelix said, folding it into himself and keeping it. The poisonous pains never made it back to Asterix. Obelix kept them in his heart, feeling them there like a dull ache.

Before his eyes, memory-Asterix blinked, feeling the burden lifted. Obelix couldn't see Asterix's light-silhouette anymore, so he couldn't see if it was brighter or healthier. Not that he was budging, whether it was or not. Meanwhile, memory-Asterix was looking around, clearly mystified as to why he suddenly felt better. Clearly, he couldn't sense Obelix yet.

A burly centurion – Callus by name, Obelix knew without knowing how he knew – approached Asterix, raising his hand to strike him across the face.

So this was how it had started.

"No!" Obelix yelled. Without thinking, he dived into Asterix's body.

Wait, what?

 _This is right,_ said the Roman. _Continue._

The slap echoed through the forest. Asterix's humiliation and pain poured through Obelix. _O Asterix._ How his friend had suffered because of him, how he'd suffered without Obelix to protect him! Somewhere in his mind, he caressed Asterix's damaged spirit, watered it with his tears. _I won't let you hurt. I'm here. I'm here, Asterix. Never again, Asterix, never leave you._

* * *

Asterix was dying. He was dying, he knew it. But then why did he feel… lighter? Why did he feel relief?

* * *

In the memory, Asterix had gathered the tattered shreds of his dignity about him like a cloak, hiding the shrinking pain and the degradation that made him want to shrivel up and disappear. _Oh no, Asterix, no,_ Obelix thought tenderly. _Let me take it. Give it to me…_ Obelix reached out into Asterix's pain, deeply, until he _was_ Asterix, standing alone proudly displaying the mark of his shame, forced to appear strong although all he wanted to do was curl up and hide.

Obelix's heart ached. He'd always known his friend was proud and brave, but to feel it from the inside, to feel the pain he concealed, to see how he papered over it for the benefit of those who depended on him, was a burden that crushed his heart. Beneath the proud mask of the village warrior, the inspiration to all, lay the burden of never showing weakness, of always showing dignity. The weight of bearing it alone.

 _Not alone, Asterix. Not anymore._

* * *

Alone in the valley of the shadow of death, Asterix startled. He felt a warmth, a presence, wrapping round him. Enfolding him. The ache of loneliness eased.

* * *

 _No, Asterix. No. Not alone, not alone, never alone._ Obelix reached into the clean perfect soul that was Asterix. He touched the humiliation, though it burned like a live coal. _Let me take it. Give it to me._ He scooped up the degradation and shame like so much mud, and pulled it into himself.

Caius stared, feeling Obelix's conviction. The question, _What should I do?_ was answered by the Gaul's love. There was nothing but tenderness in him as he reached out to touch Asterix, frozen in memory, and caress his damaged soul. Soul full of trembling love, Obelix ghosted his incorporeal hands over his friend's bruised spirit, weeping tears of sympathy. "Not you, Asterix. Give it to me. Let me have it. Give it to me."

* * *

Failure and humiliation weighted Asterix's soul. He was alone, desolate, ashamed. But then he was lifted, cradled, comforted.

A touch soft as sunshine caressed him, told him he was valued, cherished, adored.

The valley of death receded as he was borne in gentle arms above it.

He floated in love and light.

* * *

Obelix felt Asterix's surprise as the unclean sensation was taken from him. It dragged Obelix's soul down, made him feel like a filthy worm, but that was right. Better him than Asterix. He could feel Asterix's soul made clean and pure once more. Without knowing how he did it, he caressed Asterix's spirit, soothing and calming it. _I'm here. I won't let them hurt you. I'm here._

He inhabited Asterix's body as the Roman punched Asterix in the face. It hurt, and Obelix was glad of it. He'd caused this. All of it. He'd let them trick him into leaving Asterix, to protect him—and look what he'd done. If anyone deserved to be punched in the face and their jaw broken, it was him. Not Asterix. Never Asterix. "Not you, Asterix. You don't deserve this. You never deserved it." If anyone deserved it, it was Obelix: for Asterix had suffered, not just physical pain but loneliness, because of his abandonment. _This was because I left you._

Obelix tensed as another hammer-blow struck him in the stomach. Then his body exploded.

At least, that was what it felt like. Around him, in Asterix's memory, Roman legionaries kicked him as he lay helpless on the ground. He writhed and jerked with what Asterix had gone through, taking it gladly. _Be well, Asterix. Be healed. Be safe. Be comforted. Never hurt, never alone, never unhappy, just you, safe, happy, always._

* * *

Everything was swirling in Asterix's head. He was recalling his beating at the Romans' hands. But he felt no pain. Instead of the screaming, splintering sensation of fists breaking his bones, he was cushioned and rocked and held. The memory-blows were soft feather-pillow nudges, each pushing a pulse of warmth and strength into him—healing instead of hurting. There was only the memory, but no pain, no shame, only protection and caring and love.

What…?

* * *

The beating intensified. Obelix was racked with guilt. "No…" Obelix whispered, feeling tears on his cheeks as he jerked with the blows his friend had suffered. Lancinating pains spiked through his sides as his ribs cracked. His stomach felt crushed, his chest closed: he couldn't breathe. "No. No, O Asterix, no…" His friend had suffered this much, and he hadn't been there? These pains in his ribs, this cracking in his lungs, this excruciating cramping in his stomach? All this, Asterix had suffered alone?

* * *

Getafix watched the pair anxiously. Since Asterix's breathing had restarted, something had changed. The little warrior and his big friend had jerked and flinched once, then slumped again.

Now, though, both of them were moving, like dreamers in sleep… He stared at Asterix's face. Was it his imagination, or were the bruises fading? He looked up at Obelix. The big man's face was flushed, but that could just be from agitation.

* * *

Soft touches soothed Asterix's hurts. A gentle hand caressed his broken face, taking the pain away. More tender touches eased the aches in his bruised chest, replacing the cruel throbbing with blessed relief. Tears of relief sprang to his eyes; he felt rather than heard _No, Asterix, don't cry. Don't cry._ His tears were brushed away with a touch as soft as a kiss, with such a flood of love and affection that it made him dizzy.

His head spun. He rested in gentle comfort. Where was he? What was happening?

Asterix had to know.

* * *

Vitalstatistix led the villagers back into the clearing. They marched soberly, with few words. The battle had been easily won, but there was none of the customary rambunctious joy and rollicking merriment that usually followed a punch-up. This was still too serious, had been far too close. And all of them knew that it could still end in tragedy.

A figure detached itself from the group and ran to the dark shape huddled beneath the trees. "Cacofonix?" Fulliautomatix cried urgently as he knelt by him.

The bard's eyes fluttered. "Where are we?" He tried to move, but the heavy leather apron impeded his movements. "What's going on?"

"Hold up, you'll do yourself an injury." Fulliautomatix began to carefully unwrap the human mummy as the villagers returned. "Can you breathe? How are you feeling?"

"I feel fine."

"I'll be the judge of that…" As Fulliautomatix triaged Cacofonix again, checking and rechecking where his stab wound had been, the villagers flowed into the clearing, coming to cluster around the small group of druid and injured Gauls and Roman allies. "Easy. Just take it easy." Having slipped his apron back on, the blacksmith sat on the ground and propped the bard to a sitting position against his chest and shoulder. "You were hurt pretty badly," he murmured. The chief had never heard Fulliautomatix use quite that tone before, had not thought the man had it in him to speak with this much affection.

"I was? I don't remember."

"Stupid self-sacrificing idiot. The druid gave you some of his elixir and said it might cause some memory loss. What's the last thing you remember?"

"Well…"

As the pair conversed in murmurs, Vitalstatistix turned to the deep shadows under the tree, where he could just make out Asterix lying in Obelix's arms, faithful dog still at their feet. Now that the immediate crisis was past, Vitalstatistix allowed himself to admit that the mere sight of Obelix made his blood boil. False friend. Leaving Asterix when he needed him the most… He would forever be haunted by the warrior's broken voice calling his best friend's name just because he sensed an affectionate touch, knowing the person the dying man had called for was not there… it shattered Vitalstatistix's heart, and made him itch to banish Obelix then and there.

He strode up to Getafix. "What's _he_ doing holding Asterix like that?"

Vitalstatistix jerked back in shock. As his eyes became accustomed to the shadow, he saw that the bruises and blisters that had marred Asterix's face had faded. On his friend's face, identical marks were swelling and darkening, down to the centurion's handprint. Asterix's breathing was easing, his deathly pallor receding.

Scattered gasps from the villagers behind him told Vitalstatistix that it wasn't a trick of the light. Some wizardry was happening here. "What's… going on?" he whispered to Getafix, afraid to break the spell.

* * *

Asterix's head was reeling.

He'd been dying. He had felt it, felt his life slipping away. He remembered wishing the village would be safe. Something had revived him for a brief instant and he'd felt the softness and comfort of his best friend's arms. He'd said all he could, all he had strength for.

He'd known Obelix would grieve. Getafix, the Chief, all of them. More to the point, Asterix didn't want to die. He'd wanted so badly to live, but sleep was stronger than he was, and there'd been a light calling him. He'd fought it, but his strength was drained. For a moment, the light had claimed him.

He had no clue what had happened next. He'd been jolted back in time, and around him rippled the memory of the Romans' incursion into the village. The first time they'd decided to use him as a punching bag. The time he'd caused the Chief to beg for his, Asterix's, life. That was odd. Humiliation should burn inside him – he felt the place where it ought to be – but instead he felt reassured and warm. It was a memory he didn't want to relive, but he was reliving it – without the pain.

Then he was knocked to the ground again, but it didn't hurt. The beating was happening again, only every blow felt like a warm pulse of healing, his body growing less painful with every kick and punch instead of more. He was swathed, cocooned, protected, by something soft and comforting. It didn't make any sense for the legionaries' blows to not hurt him, as if he was a ghost. Was he dead, then?

It was only when the Centurion smashed his leg that Asterix realized what was happening – and even then, he couldn't quite believe it.

"Obelix!" he gasped. "What are you doing?"

* * *

He had no clue where Asterix was. This place was funny. It was like being in a dream. Obelix gasped with pain as a particularly hard blow landed, then took a painful, cracked breath (O Asterix, was this pain yours? Was this hurting air yours?) and said, "I don't quite know. But we've got to save your life."

* * *

Caius was having a hard time keeping a grip on this, and that was putting it mildly. Scenes from what the Gauls had gone through alternated with his view of the ribbons of their spirits. The broad path of the amber ribbon had wrapped itself completely around Asterix's weak, torn tendril of light. Translucent, it shone through, allowing him to see both, intact amber superimposed on tattered pale gold. As he watched, the gashes and ruptures in Asterix's streak of light glowed amber, then healed gold. Slowly, corresponding gaps and gashes opened up in the amber ribbon, although of course they appeared much smaller in relation to the broader ribbon's size.

By all the gods, he needed to be more skilled at this! They were doing some soul-transfer on their own, but it could be dangerous without a trained shaman present. _Yeah, and when you find one, have him tell me what in Jupiter's name I should be doing,_ he thought wryly.

 _You will do well, my Caius,_ his mother's voice echoes through his consciousness.

 _Yes, Mother._ Caius rolls resigned eyes skywards. _Ave, Mater. Those who are about to muddle through salute you._

* * *

A heavy foot landed on Asterix's knee. Obelix slipped easily into his place, and clenched his fists. They'd done _that_ to _Asterix?_ Better a thousand times he should take it instead. Even if he knew it would hurt like nothing he'd ever experienced.

As the Roman raised his leg, Asterix's voice echoed through the darkness for the first time. "Obelix! NO!"

Obelix threw himself fully into the blow as Asterix's knee was smashed. Their screams rang out together.

But Asterix's had not been a cry of pain. Now he knew what was going on. The centurion had smashed his knee, but he felt no pain, and now it was his friend who was screaming. It didn't take a genius to work out what was going on. By some magic, by some power, Obelix was shielding him.

And Asterix didn't want his friend suffering in his place. "Don't!" he snapped. "Obelix, don't!"

* * *

Caius could hear the Gaul speaking, though how, he knew not, for here there were no bodies, no physical entity. The amber ribbon was sporting not only a ragged hole, but many smaller ones. And the pale-gold streak glowed _livid._ "Don't do that!"

As Caius watched, the amber ribbon flowed into the gold one, caressing the place where the horrible tear had been. Caius felt its quiet joy as it sensed the healing. "You can't stop me."

Pale gold pulsed curious. "How are you doing this?"

"I don't really know. There's a Roman who's helping."

Anger flared. "A Roman?"

"No, no." The amber ribbon appeared placating. "He's a good Roman."

Caius staggered back. _A good Roman?_ After all he'd done to Obelix, to be so easily forgiven? He'd crushed Obelix's self-regard, destroyed his self-respect—and he was 'a good Roman'? For one favor, for one instance of help? He could see why the Roman actress had taken the part of these Gauls. Their generosity of spirit gave him new life.

He felt his own energy flare.

* * *

"…can't I just thump them?" Obelix was saying.

"I'm afraid not," Asterix said sadly. "This is a memory."

"Of…" Obelix trembled. "Of what happened to you?"

Caius felt the pulse of shame that moved through Asterix. "Yes." Then he felt the swoop as Obelix's ribbon flung itself at the pulse of shame, laid itself over it, and absorbed it into itself.

* * *

Asterix barely had time to register the shame of having been captured before he was lifted, swathed in softness. Warm amber caressed the sore place, eased the pain of humiliation. The relief he felt was palpable—but no! He didn't want Obelix taking his hurts. He'd told him not to! But since when did that pigheaded great idiot listen to anything he said? And Asterix was too weak to stop him. _No,_ he pushed back, afraid to have his friend take the near-fatal beating he had suffered tonight.

* * *

From his place on the ground, still holding Cacofonix, Fulliautomatix stared. "He's _what?"_

"Look." While Obelix's face was in shadow, his body was bathed in moonlight. Getafix gestured to where the big man's leg was swelling, Asterix's fearful injury subsiding. There were murmurs from the villagers, people nudging each other to see.

* * *

The soft dream-world had changed. It was night now, although in this dark there was no telling how he knew. The amber ribbon was torn, the last injury clearly taking its toll. This wasn't right. Caius knew from what his mother had told him of her village's ancient practice that an injury, once absorbed, should be dissipated. Perhaps the reason was that it was not Caius who had absorbed it, nor anyone trained, but merely a loving friend. But the act of sharing the injury, he had heard, even among the untrained, should mitigate it…

Obelix was seeing everything Asterix had gone through, and it made him feel lower than a worm. "I am ready, O Romans." Dragging Asterix away to beat him to death.

Desperately, Obelix reached for the beating, Asterix trying to push him away but far too weak to be effectual. First, Obelix gathered in the loneliness, the abandonment, the knowledge of certain death that Asterix had felt. He could sense Asterix's relief and surprise. He caressed the healed place, the relief. It seemed to give him strength.

Caius saw the light gold silhouette grow brighter, even as a hole opened up in the amber silhouette's heart. Then he saw the amber silhouette reach out and touch the healed spot where a hole had been. As it touched the place, the amber figure brightened, as though it was being healed by the touch in turn.

But he didn't have time to analyze it, as Caius watched Obelix take on Asterix's second beating, the one that had very nearly killed him.


	21. Chapter 21

Thank you. For caring and reviewing. Really. Part of the character insight in this chapter is from Filosofie. And Pilyarquitect? Your review gave me more feels than my actual story.

* * *

Beneath the moonlight, the villagers were still gathered, clustered about Asterix, Obelix and the Numidian friend of Obelix's fiancée. "But what kind of magic is this?" Vitalstatistix asked, staring mesmerized. Before his eyes, bruises were forming on Obelix's bare arms and shoulders, black and blue blossoming beneath the skin. Here and there, blood welled from the places where the impact of knuckles or leather had broken skin—Asterix's skin.

It was the Roman actress who responded. "It is the ancient art of the shaman," she lilted, unable to tear her eyes from the spectacle, "born in Africa, and I hear lands farther still. Our—friend," she doubted he would mind the use of that word, now, "Caius, is a shaman. He takes injuries from others, and takes them on himself. Then he makes them disappear."

"By Belisama…" whispered Cacofonix. Asterix's torso was hidden beneath his tattered tunic and the dust he had been kicked around in, but even beneath the dust, it was clear that the bruises on his arms were fading. Already, his eyes were less swollen, his jawline no longer misshapen. The clear handprint on his face was gone, the blistered finger-marks instead decorating Obelix's cheek. But most importantly, his breathing was no longer the labored wheeze of a dying man, but soft and regular.

"Wait. But shouldn't the shaman have the injuries?" Cacofonix asked, still leaning on Fulliautomatix. "Why are they transferring to Obelix?"

"They were too severe for our Roman friend," explained Getafix. "He was unable to take them on lest they kill him. Obelix volunteered," he met the chief's eyes, "to take Asterix's injuries into himself."

"But he's not a shaman!"

"No. But he volunteered to take them, if our friend Caius managed to make the transfer."

Vitalstatistix was silent, for a long moment. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"Yes." Getafix pitched his voice to carry. "He was warned it could kill him. But he was willing to die so that Asterix would live."

The villagers murmured.

* * *

Obelix wasn't used to pain. He wasn't used to writhing helplessly as he was laid into by savage opponents. The last time it had happened could not compare: childhood bullies were poor preparation for well-trained soldiers dealing blows with lethal force. And Asterix had been gravely injured even before this beating.

 _Injured even before the beating._ Obelix thought of his friend suffering so, all alone, calling for him and never coming.

His heart twisted and ached. Asterix had been singled out for punishment. Because Asterix was a hero, and because he, Obelix, liked smashing up Roman camps and hadn't been there when they'd wanted revenge. So Asterix had paid for it. For both of them.

Asterix had a huge personality. It made their rambunctious friends shut up and listen, had settled a feud between Corsican clans, and won over Julius Caesar himself. But his personality often made people forget just how tiny he was, physically. True, Asterix's strength of character was unparalleled, and he trained hard to make up for what he lacked in brute strength: his speed and agility had won him many fights without the potion. But there were limits. Obelix had seen Asterix captured before, more than once. He knew that without the magic potion, and without him around, Asterix could be in danger. And this time… this time, Obelix had abandoned him, like the false friend he now knew himself to be. And Asterix had been captured, humiliated, and beaten to the point of death.

And so Obelix threw himself into the memory in Asterix's place, and reveled in the beating he deserved. Every kick and blow felt like justice. He deserved this for abandoning his friend, he thought as he was kicked in the stomach. He deserved this for letting Asterix suffer, he thought as he was kicked in the ribs. He deserved it for everything he'd ever done to Asterix, and most particularly for abandoning him to this fate. Why, a few moments later and Asterix would have died. That Roman spy really _had_ been his conscience. The things he had said were true: Obelix was a terrible friend, and he brought Asterix more pain than joy.

And so Obelix the Gaul took pleasure in being hurt, embraced it as penance. The kicks and punches to his body—Asterix's body—felt likeexpiation, even though the word was outside the simple Gaul's vocabulary. The blood that dripped from his/Asterix's broken skin felt like justice, the tears of pain well-deserved. Obelix didn't know which was worse, the brutal beating, or the knowledge that Asterix had suffered it. He let the pain burn through him, bitter and gravel-rough, pulling it into his core, wanting more and worse.

* * *

 _Caius._

 _Mater?_

 _I sense guilt and grief. This is no place for them._

 _What do you mean?_

 _It will hamper the healing. Focusing on love breeds healing. Focusing on hurt hampers it. They must banish these emotions from their mental space, or risk blocking it._

* * *

He was finally getting what he deserved. A particularly hard kick to the injured leg made him yell out—

"No! No more." Asterix, strong enough to stop him now, shouldered him out of the way. "No more, Obelix. That's enough. I'm not dying any more, I can feel it. That's quite enough. Stop this!"

 _O Toutatis,_ Obelix thought in agony, _'not dying any more.'_ _They nearly killed him. They nearly killed him because I left him to be hurt this badly. I haven't been punished enough yet._ He shoved Asterix's spirit-form aside, crowding past him into the memory-punches and kicks as Asterix tried vainly to stop him. Even as Asterix yelled, Obelix was reaching out, not knowing how he was doing it, and grasped the last terrible blow the Roman had dealt Asterix's shattered leg and gathered it into himself. "You already had this once, if you think I'm letting you go through it a second time…"

* * *

Pain sharpened Obelix's senses, broken shards of bone cutting through to who he was, to who Asterix was. He was inside Asterix—he _was_ Asterix.

Obelix always saw the world through a great 'I.' I feel… I need… I want… I am. It blindsided him to see through Asterix's eyes. Asterix's focus was directed outward, not inward. The village. New knowledge. New battles. New fun. It was so odd to take it in: If Obelix had been taken off the way Asterix had, all he would have thought about was his own sacrifice, how he felt, how it proved who he was, how he would be remembered. Asterix? All his friend had thought about was _Must get the key_ and _Can't let Vitalstatistix get hurt_ and technical things such as _Roll with the falls._

It made Obelix realize what a self-centered pig he was, unworthy of Asterix's friendship. Unworthy to even be in the same room with him. All he thought about was his own useless self, as though he was the hero in some epic tale, when he was just in a fantasy. He was nothing.

He reached for the pain, welcomed it.

"Obelix, NO!"

The metal buckle of the legionary's sandal drove hard into Asterix's swollen leg, and Obelix was there to take it. Blood spurted as the pressure was released, and the bone, already broken, shattered.

* * *

Both Gauls and the Roman were twitching and making tiny movements, as if in a nightmare. Asterix's face, thank all the gods, was all but healed. His chest rose and fell in a regular rhythm. Vitalstatistix stared at Obelix's face, now black and blue and blistered. "But the injuries aren't disappearing," he said slowly. "Obelix still has them. Shouldn't they be dissipating?"

"Yes. Our Roman friend is untrained," Getafix explained, "and—"

"Look!" yelled Unhygienix, interrupting him.

As they watched, one of Obelix's stubby legs swelled, and began to bleed.

* * *

Obelix screamed. As he cried out, he thought of Asterix suffering this same pain, all alone, and sobbed, not with the pain of the blows, but of the thought of his friend, his Asterix, in such torment. It should have been his, it should always have been his.

"That's quite enough—" Asterix's energy rammed into him, shoving him aside. Obelix pushed back, and he and Asterix matched wills, each seeking to take the injury from the other.

"Both of you!" Caius yelled. "Listen to me! If you don't want to hurt each other, listen to me!" Twin Gaulish heads turned to look at him.

"Listen," said Caius. He knew this was right. "Focusing on the pain won't get you anywhere. You must concentrate on the healing. Obelix, you start. Concentrate on where Asterix's healing is. The places that aren't hurt anymore."

Obelix didn't understand. Caius didn't know how he could tell – the silhouettes had no facial expressions – but the amber light-figure didn't get it. He turned to Asterix. He couldn't see the small warrior's eyes either, but there was clear inquisitiveness in the figure of bright pale gold.

Caius opened his mouth to speak to Asterix, but stopped, overwhelmed. Asterix was offering him his trust, only because his friend trusted him. His eagerness for knowledge was palpable in the way his mind was reaching out. And Caius was ashamed. By Jupiter, how had he ever plotted to destroy this man? From the moment he'd opened Asterix's dossier and turned the first slab, the Gaul had earned Caius' respect and admiration. In every incident in the files, the warrior had always shown himself a solid, dependable ally, a staunch friend, and a forgiving, charitable and honorable enemy.

He did whatever the equivalent was here of taking a deep breath. "A… Asterix." The name fell haltingly from his lips after all this time conspiring against the man. He was sure the Gaulish warrior could sense his shame. "Tell Obelix to look at the places where your wounds have healed. Just as he took the pain, the healing will transfer itself to him."

The figure nodded with luminous grace, and Caius could have sworn Asterix was thanking him. Then he turned to his friend's image, and reached out to take Obelix's ethereal hand and bring it up to touch his face. Both figures glowed brighter. The tatters in the head area of the amber silhouette shrank, almost disappearing. Asterix reached for Obelix's other hand, pressing both of his big friend's hands to his cheeks, bringing them up to cup his face. The brightness became almost blinding. Tears burned in Caius' eyes as he felt the strength of their love for each other.

* * *

"Look," Latraviata whispered in awe. The clear handprint on Obelix's face, transferred there from Asterix's, was fading. Asterix's puffy, swollen-shut eyes were healed completely, and the black eyes transferred to Obelix had subsided to the point where he'd be able to open them when he woke. Both Gauls' cheekbones were unbroken now, both their jawlines intact and healed. As they watched, the bruises on Obelix's chest and arms faded from black and blue to green and yellow.

Getafix half-smiled. "Looks as though our Roman friend has found his feet."

"It is quite a feat," said Vitalstatistix, "but what do you mean by that?"

"Well," said Getafix, "he wasn't sure he'd be able to dissipate the injuries after Obelix took them on."

"What? Then why did he go in?" asked Cacofonix.

"To transfer the injuries to Obelix instead of Asterix."

"Without knowing if he could make them go away?"

"Yes."

"He… You mean," Cacofonix said, still leaning on Fulliautomatix's arm, "You mean Obelix was just planning to take the injuries without knowing if… I mean, Asterix's leg, that could… he might never walk again."

Getafix the druid looked at the sleeping pair and their Roman shaman. "Asterix was dying," he said. "Considering that Obelix was willing to give his life so that Asterix would recover, I doubt he considered being crippled too high a price to pay. For his friend."

"By Belenos," Fulliautomatix whispered.

There was a long silence. Finally, Chief Vitalstatistix spoke for all of them when he said, "Well, I suppose this proves he isn't a fair-weather friend after all."

* * *

As Caius watched, the pair began to take on solidity and strength as they shared their healing. Asterix guided his friend to lay his hands on the healed places on his ribcage. Amber hands of light rested tenderly on the small golden form, and Caius saw the holes and wounds in the big man's torso closing up as he did. "How is this working, Asterix?" Obelix asked, trusting as a child.

"You took on all the things that were wrong with me because you could feel them, although I'm not all that happy about it," Asterix said matter-of-factly, "so now you can feel I'm nice and healthy, you're taking on that too."

The amber form flickered, but only Caius could see it. The next touch was to Asterix's damaged leg. "Feel that?" Asterix's smile was so tender, his aura so filled with affection, that Caius could only give thanks to the gods he had not destroyed this friendship. "You fixed it."

Obelix felt Asterix's leg—and jerked away. "I don't deserve this."

"What? What is it, Obelix?"

"I'll hurt you."

"What? Obelix, you healed me!"

"I didn't. _He_ did." Obelix gestured at Caius. "O Roman! I'm afraid I'll hurt him again. Take us back!"

"Again? Obelix, you didn't hurt me the first time…"

But the dismissal had broken Caius' grip. He fell backwards out of the trance, landing with a thump on the dewy grass.


	22. Chapter 22

Asterix's eyes opened. Sky. Treetops. Moonlight. A ragged cheer, from the weak voices of the villagers. Warmth. Comfort. Weakness, but all was right with the world—No, wait. _Obelix._

Asterix struggled to rise. "O—" But his voice broke off in a coughing fit.

Getafix was there, supporting his back into a sitting position. "Asterix, take it easy. Please let me have a look at you."

"No, I…" He was lifted off his friend's big, soft stomach and sat down on a fallen tree trunk before he could do anything. His head was spinning, limbs cold, but he snapped, "I'm all right!"

"No, you're not," the druid said firmly. He was flanked by the chief and the blacksmith. "You nearly died. Half the blood in your body's lying around in the forest somewhere. Our Roman friend has done an excellent job of saving your life, but you are _not_ to run around as if you're in full health."

Asterix turned to face Obelix. His alarm rose as he saw his friend still sleeping, faint traces of bruises everywhere on his face and what he could see of his bare skin. He couldn't see his friend's legs from where he was, the others blocking the view, so he tried to rise. "How is he?"

But Getafix held him down with gentle hands on his shoulders. "Not yet. Just sit here for a minute, someone will bring you some water."

He couldn't get up without shoving the druid aside, which would not only be disrespectful, but very possibly impracticable, given how weak he felt. "I just want to—"

"No, Asterix." He knew that tone: Getafix used it to tell Obelix he couldn't have any magic potion. "Your injuries have been healed, but the blood you lost will take time to replenish."

"But Obelix…"

"Is fine," reassured Getafix. Very sensibly, Vitalstatistix was letting the druid do the talking. In this kind of mood, he was the only one with a chance of getting through to Asterix. "He's exhausted, as you both are, and your Roman friend Caius Insidius as well.

"Who?"

"The healer who saved your life. I'll explain later. Now, we've managed to get a pair of horses from the Romans in the battle: we are going to hitch them to the cart, and you and your friends are going to get in the cart, and get home for some much-needed rest."

"No. Take the children first."

"The children are…" Getafix began. He didn't have to finish: Asterix lost the battle with consciousness and slumped quietly into a startled Fotogenix's arms.

Someone cried out hysterically. "O Toutatis! He's dead!"

"He's not dead." Getafix's voice rang out. "All three of them are exhausted from the backbreaking emotional labor they have just performed. They'll remain asleep for a long while. They're well. I don't want any doomsaying, is that clear?"

Vitalstatistix looked around at the frightened faces. It was about time he took charge. "Load Asterix into the cart." He stepped close to the druid. "Our druid will check if Obelix can move. The rest of you, make sure everyone's on the potion, men and women. Everyone except for the children. We can't afford an ambush in the middle of the forest like this. Give the horses a drop of potion too – is that safe?" He looked at Getafix, who nodded. "Parents, load the children into the cart with the druid. Getafix, ride with them. Children," the chief looked at them, "I'm depending on you to be good Gauls and listen to our druid. I know you're very tired. You can sleep in the cart and in the druid's hut. Your parents will come and take you home."

He turned to the villagers. "No splitting up. We stay together. I need six of you – no parents – to get in the cart with Getafix and come back here with carts big enough to take us all home. No false pride—I want those of you who aren't too tired. Show of hands?"

Geriatrix and Mrs Geriatrix both raised their hands, followed closely by Bucolix, Adriatix, Cacofonix, Polysyllabix and Fotogenix. "Not you, Cacofonix. You're in no condition to be driving carts. Unless you want to go home and to bed."

"I could help the druid take care of the children?"

"All right. At least that way he can keep an eye on you. Get in, everyone."

The four adults piled into the cart, an unconscious Asterix carried in the druid's potion-enhanced arms, followed by the little ones. "Shouldn't Obelix be in the cart too?" Fulliautomatix asked the chief as he helped Cacofonix up. The big man was still lying with his back against the tree, only half-aware, as though in the lighter stages of sleep: his leg was still clearly swollen and unusable.

"It's too small," Vitalstatistix said regretfully. "The other cart will be here soon."

As the cart trundled off, the chief looked round to where Obelix lay slumped. Next to him, his fiancée knelt, not to Obelix, but to her Numidian friend from the theatre. "Hey, shaman." She was patting the man's cheek. "Hey. Wake up, I want to ask you something." Before Vitalstatistix's eyes, she knelt and drew the Numidian's head into her lap. "Caius. Caius Insidius," she kept talking. "I misjudged you. Come on. Open your eyes."

Vitalstatistix blushed. It seemed as though Obelix's fiancée was as fickle as he'd always been told Roman women were.

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" Impedimenta whispered.

"Now's not the time," Vitalstatistix whispered back. "We need to calm the others down. They're worried about their children." He barreled on, knowing the only way to calm Impedimenta down was to give her a difficult task. "What can we do that will keep them busy until the carts arrive?"

She thought for a moment. Like Vitalstatistix, she knew that villagers on the potion needed things to occupy them, or else they didn't take well to waiting. Especially with the additional strain of being worried about their children. "I think a good thing to do would be to divide them up into teams. One to forage for food – we'll need a good meal when all this is over – and one to cook it. We can use the empty cauldron from the potion. One can get to work making an extra cart for the food we've cooked, so we can immediately give the children supper when we get home, and one to find any extra horses left behind by the Romans to pull it."

It was only the fact that she'd been backstage in a big production that allowed Latraviata to keep up relative calm in the tizzy—there was no other word for it—that followed. Faster than she could have imagined, a cart was built, soup was made and handed out, and boar roasted. Scarcely had that been done when carts clattered up, drawn by horses and rather energetic oxen she rather suspected had had a sip of potion. The villagers loaded everything up in record time, including themselves, and Obelix, who was still only half-awake. Latraviata found herself shoved up next to Obelix, Caius Insidius staying close to her, clearly uneasy at his new status as an honorary villager for the duration. She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Little worm you may be," she smiled down at him, "but you've done well, Dream-Whisperer."

His gaze flickered up to her. He seemed still guilty and preoccupied, but the lines on his face softened a little at her encouragement. "Thank you," he said humbly.

Impedimenta glared.

* * *

The night seemed to never end, but finally they were all settled. The parents went home to their children. The three participants in the dream-ritual bedded down at Getafix's so he could keep an eye on them. Cacofonix was judged well enough to go home, but was bullied by Fulliautomatix into spending the night at the smithy. ("That's all we need, having you fall off that dangerous staircase because of blood loss. And then we'd have to patch you up again. Here. Is this soft enough? Good. Take this pillow. And this one, too. That blanket's not enough, you've been hurt. Cover up warmly, and don't argue. O by Belenos, let me do it. Hold still while I tuck the covers in. That should keep you warm enough. One peep out of you and you'll regret it, got that?") Obelix's fiancée stayed at his empty hut, propriety preserved since her future husband was sleeping at the druid's. And the druid, having settled the invalids in, tumbled into his own bed for some well-earned rest.

Vitalstatistix, though exhausted, stood at his window, staring out at the half-ruined streets of the village. So close. It had been so close this time. He could see the remnants of discarded pottery in the street where someone had been startled by fire or attack. Not far off, Unhygienix's fish stood rotting—although, admittedly, the stench wasn't that much different from usual—and the foundry opposite stood closed and cold. Smoke was only just starting to rise from the roofs of those who had started a fire in the hearth, but most of the huts were darkened, as though the village was deserted. It was driven home again to him what he tried to avoid thinking about: how fragile it all was.

Impedimenta came up to stand beside him, in her nightdress and bare feet. Her hair was bound up in a scarf. Wordlessly, she handed him his nightcap. "You should get some sleep," she muttered. Her usual bossy tone was gone. She sounded shaken too.

He put his arm round her and she leaned into him as she had when they were courting. They stood there for a while, drawing strength from each other. "We can get the village cleaned up in the morning," Impedimenta went on. "We ought to have a banquet in honor of that Numidian thespian who saved Asterix's life."

It was a measure of how upset Impedimenta was that she _wanted_ to have a banquet. She was usually dead against them. Well, unless there was a special occasion. "Perhaps we should wait a day or so," he said softly. "Obelix was still pretty banged up when we got here."

She shuddered against him. There wasn't a villager who didn't realize how precarious their situation was when the normally invulnerable Obelix was hurt. "That was a charitable thing he did for Asterix," murmured Impedimenta, looking out of the window in the direction of the druid's hut.

"It was more than charitable. It was positively self-sacrificing," Vitalstatistix responded. "I thought he was a false friend. I'm glad to be proved wrong."

"He has a good heart," nodded Impedimenta. "He deserves better than that hussy, fawning all over her actor friend."

Vitalstatistix found himself smiling. If Impedimenta still had the strength to gossip after all that had come to pass, then all was right with the world. "Yes, dear."


	23. Chapter 23

When Asterix woke, the sun was high in the sky. For a moment he blinked, trying to remember where he was and what had happened. The druid's hut… Why was he in the druid's hut at noon? Noon, why was he asleep till noon?

Then it all came rushing back. "Oh, by Toutatis! The village!" he cried, sitting upright. The Romans, the fires, the druid. Then—a ribbon of gold. A dream. A friend taking Asterix's hurts.

 _"Obelix!"_ he cried, leaping out of bed. His head spun, and he collapsed to the floor, bedclothes still trailing behind.

"Asterix!" yelled Getafix the druid. "By all the gods, calm down!"

"O Getafix! I… Where's…" Asterix floundered as the druid disentangled him from the sheet twisted around his legs. Why was the room spinning? Why couldn't he move? "Obelix! He's…"

"ASTERIX!" bellowed the druid. "QUIET!" Asterix did, but barely. "Will you or will you not settle down long enough for me to get this sheet off you and give you your morning potions? By Belenos, no-one would think that last night you nearly died!"

The words gave Asterix pause. Making the most of it, Getafix scuttled round to get the crazy warrior's potions and pour them down him before he started moving again. "Drink," he commanded, followed by "Sit on the bed," which, miracle of miracles, Asterix did, and finally, "Keep still while I have a look at you."

It _was_ a miracle. Asterix had been dying, and now was virtually whole. His bones were unbroken: his once-smashed knee moved smoothly and easily, his ribs expanded strongly and fully, and the once-shattered jaw and cheekbone were healed. Like his body, covered in fading green and yellow bruises throughout, his face was lightly bruised, showing only traces of the once mortal damage. "It is a miracle," Getafix sighed. "Gods be praised."

"So can I see Obelix now—" Asterix jumped off the bed, and fell flat on his face.

"A miracle," Getafix said sternly, scooping Asterix up and thanking Toutatis, Belenos and anyone else who might be listening that he'd thought to take a swig of magic potion before dealing with this immensely difficult patient, "does not mean you can go haring about as though you didn't stop breathing last night." He settled his patient firmly on his feet, supporting him. "You lost a lot of blood. You're going to be dizzy for days, and tire easily for weeks. Food and rest will help you become your old impossible self again." He smiled to take any sting out of his words. "Now, if you'll take my arm and move slowly like a good Gaul, Obelix is in the other bed just behind that curtain."

It was galling to have to shuffle across the room, more slowly than Geriatrix. But Asterix found his body wouldn't respond to his urgings to move faster. Finally, he accepted his own debility, and let the druid help him over to where part of the large main area was curtained off. Getafix didn't pull the fabric open, just held it aside a crack. Asterix stepped in.

The chamber formed by the partition was dark. It took Asterix's eyes a few moments to adjust to the dimness. "Obelix?" he whispered.

The faint light from behind the curtain limned his friend, a soft, rounded silhouette on Getafix's spare bed. A doggy whine greeted Asterix as he came in: it took his unadjusted eyes a moment to locate Dogmatix, sitting in the curve of Obelix's arm. "Hi, Dogmatix," he said softly. "You saved the village. Good doggie." He moved close enough to stand flush to the bed, scratching the dog behind the ears. He looked his sleeping friend up and down, trying to assess any damage. "Obelix?" he whispered softly.

"I gave him a few potions," Getafix said. "He'll sleep for a while."

But Asterix's eyes were fully used to the light now. "What's wrong with his leg?!"

The sudden stiffness in the druid's posture told Asterix that his old friend was, at the very least, unsure how to fix it. "He's been like this since your… trance," Getafix admitted.

Asterix moved closer. Obelix's stubby leg was twisted sideways and misshapen, swollen so badly it was as thick as his arm. The sight was like a knife in Asterix's heart. He raised stricken eyes to Getafix's. "How did he walk on this?"

"He didn't," Getafix said quietly. "He's been carried so far. I don't think he can walk on it."

"Have you," Asterix swallowed, "found out what's, um, wrong with it exactly?"

Getafix nodded. "The kneecap's shattered. As yours was."

Asterix winced. "Oh no." He sat on the edge of the bed, hand involuntarily going to his own healed knee. "O Obelix…" He could tell now that the trouser-leg of Obelix's breeches was cut off, replaced by a towel with some sort of herbal poultice beneath. Gently, he lifted the edge of the towel. But on this severe an injury, clearly even the gentlest touch wasn't gentle enough: Obelix shuddered and groaned. "I'm sorry!" Asterix blurted. He darted to his friend's head, ignoring the dizziness, wrapping his arms round Obelix's neck.

"Ast...mm..." the big man murmured, feeling the embrace in sleep.

Asterix pressed a hand to his friend's cheek. "O Obelix..." Only now did he notice that the druid seemed to have washed the dust off both of them: Obelix's skin, like Asterix's, was not dust-caked but clean and fresh, smelling of the eucalyptus salve the Gauls used to treat bruises. Now he could see better, Asterix could make out the green and yellow bruising beneath Obelix's skin, not unlike his own. He winced. It was all right for him, but Obelix wasn't supposed to be bruised. "Obelix, why? Why did you do this to yourself?" Tightening his arms around what he could reach of his friend, he pressed his face against the broad shoulder.

"Asterix!" The massive bulk beneath Asterix shifted as Obelix startled awake. His eyes snapped open, panic filling them. "Asterix, are you all right?"

Asterix moved backwards, into Obelix's line of sight. "Yes. Take it easy, all right?"

Frantically, Obelix reached out with both hands. Asterix met him halfway, allowing him to grip his, Asterix's, upper arms. Obelix's eyes were wide as he looked Asterix up and down. His hands were soft and hesitant on Asterix, as though he might press too hard and his friend might shatter. "Asterix," he said softly. "Are you..." He swallowed. "Are you..." He looked as though he couldn't get the words out. His face was pale, his eyes wet.

Asterix felt his face soften into a smile despite himself. "I'm fine," he murmured. Gently disengaging Obelix's hands from his arms with a soft squeeze, he took a step or two backwards to give Obelix a full view of him, and turned in place - slowly, for he couldn't manage anything strenuous - with his arms out. "See? I'm quite all right." Back facing the bed, he tried for a grin. He couldn't quite manage it, and truth to tell, he was rather dizzy from the motion, but he hoped it was clear to see that he was better. "Good as new," he said, stepping back to the side of the bed and taking Obelix's hands in his own.

A grin split Obelix's face, hesitant, then broader, filled with delight. "Asterix! You're really better. O by Toutatis..."

"Careful!" warned Asterix. "Don't try to sit—" But Obelix was already involuntarily sitting up, moving around on the mattress to better see Asterix - and of course, he jostled his swollen leg.

 _"Ow!"_ His hands tightened on Asterix's, but he snatched them out of his friend's supportive grip before he could hurt him.Gasping, Obelix fell back against the pillows, massive chest rising and falling as the agony stole his breath.

"Take it easy." Asterix stepped closer, heart aching. "Don't move."

But Obelix, still panting shallowly with pain, just turned his head, looking at Asterix, visibly drinking in the sight of him. "Asterix," he sighed, eyes soft. "You're…" Asterix had to swallow at what he saw in Obelix's eyes. But then Obelix's eyes flitted up and down Asterix's arms and face: he'd noticed the bruises. "O Asterix, I thought you were healed." Carefully, he reached out. "I don't want you to be hurt."

Asterix caught his questing hand at once, stopping his movement. "Stay still, I told you!" he snapped. It was all too easy to slip into the old ways of speaking. "Your leg's hurt, we've got to get that sorted out before you can move. Stop squirming around!" But then Asterix had to stop, because it had never been like this before. Not since Obelix was turned to stone had he needed to take care of his friend. He took his strength for granted, and now… Now, he might never walk again.

Suddenly, the words his friend had spoken before he left the village echoed through his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be chivvying you around."

Obelix was still staring at him with that same soft gaze, as though he couldn't quite believe his good fortune. "Why do you say that?"

"Well…" Asterix looked down at the sheet, "you said… before. About… that you, well. That I…" Obelix was still staring mystified. "That you… that I act like…" Normally Asterix would just burst into tears and be forgiven, but this felt weightier than that. "I don't know what the Roman plot was or anything, but you sounded…"

"Oh, that's all right," Obelix said softly. "I know what the Roman plot was."

Asterix stared. "You… what?"

"I was the Roman plot," came a low voice from behind Asterix.

He whirled. "What?" His brain seemed to have stopped working. He was usually more coherent than this.

The Numidian healer stood in the 'doorway' formed by the curtain. "You can hit me if you want," he said. "I probably deserve it."

A stool appeared behind Asterix's knees, and he sat down gratefully. "Thanks, O Getafix."

"I thought you might want to be sitting down for this," said the druid, smoothly coming round from behind Asterix's back. He addressed himself to the Roman stranger. "You are going to tell him everything, aren't you?"

The Roman nodded. He met Asterix's eyes, and his hand moved feebly but stopped short of a handshake. "Caius Insidius, formerly of Caesar's Secret Service – O by Jupiter, he'll probably have me killed once he finds out I'm not coming back – anyway." He gave a half-bow. "At your service."

* * *

As the story unfolded, all Asterix would think that it was a good thing for this Caius Insidius that he, Asterix, was still weak, otherwise Asterix _would_ have thumped him—probably punched him all the way back to Rome. Drive a wedge between him and Obelix? Make Obelix think he was bad for Asterix? Make him say to Asterix that he didn't want his friendship? And worse—transfer Asterix's hurts to Obelix? When the tale was done, he was shaking with rage. "How dare you? Look at him! You could have killed him—"

Oddly, it was Obelix who stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Asterix, he saved your life."

Asterix's eyes flashed. "Maybe I don't want to be saved by a double-dealing worm."

"I called him a little worm myself," said a feminine voice from the door. "But he's changed quite a bit since then."

Latraviata glided into the room, perfectly coiffed and stunning in deep green robes, as though yesterday's ordeal had been only a dream for her. "Hello, Asterix."

Asterix fumbled to take off his helmet, only to find he wasn't wearing it. He tried to stand respectfully at least, but found himself too dizzy, and sat down again. "Hello," he finally managed to say.

Behind the Roman diva's routine seductiveness, her face was open and held only friendship. She looked over at Obelix and smiled. "It's good to see you awake," she said, and it was clear she meant it.

"Good morning, my dear," said Getafix, making Asterix blink. _What in the name of Toutatis and Belenos…?_ The druid had never trusted Latraviata, much less considered her a friend. Whatever had transpired between them while he was captured, it had changed a lot. He'd have to winkle it out of the druid later.

"I promise you, he's changed." Latraviata came over to lay a comradely hand on the Roman agent's shoulder. "If he wants to help you, let him. His intentions are true."

"I know that," Obelix chimed in sincerely.

Asterix looked hard at the contrite Roman agent. Truth be told, he had felt the man's sincerity too, felt it in a realm where there could be no lies. He took a breath, still dizzy. "All right," he conceded. "Let's say you're telling the truth. Why didn't you heal Obelix fully?"

"He pushed me away!" burst out Caius Insidius in indignation and what seemed like wounded professional pride. "He just—jumped out of the trance before I could guide him!" He turned to Asterix. "How much do you remember?"

Asterix thought hard as Getafix the druid looked on. "Not as much as I'd like to," he confessed. "It feels as though it might come back later. I do remember Obelix taking away…" he glared at his friend, "…some of the things that were wrong with me. Onto himself, I mean. Though I told him not to." He looked up at Insidius. "Is that right?"

"Yes. He did. I was supposed to help, but all I did was open the conduit and you two took care of the rest, really. Only he stopped short of the point where the injuries would have all been dissipated. They're not supposed to stay, you know. They're meant to disappear when the trance is concluded."

"Well, they haven't," Asterix retorted.

"No." Caius Insidius frowned. "I'd almost say…" He looked up at the druid for help. "…Is there such a thing as rejecting healing? If you feel, I know this sounds silly, if you feel you don't deserve it?"

Getafix nodded. "It's fairly uncommon, but it's been known to happen. When someone is guilty of some great crime or cardinal sin. Or betrayal—um…" His eyes widened and he trailed off, covering the end of the words in a loud cough. He pretended not to see Obelix's stricken expression. "Um, I think my potion is boiling over. I'll be back in a minute…" And he fled.

Asterix stared at Obelix, Caius Insidius' dark eyes unhappily confirming what the Gaul already suspected. "Is that it?" he whispered. "I do seem to remember…" he nodded slowly, "you… saying… saying you'd hurt me, is that right?"

Obelix looked down at the covers. "I always do," he muttered.

 _"_ _Obelix!"_ Asterix flung himself at his friend, wrapping his arms round his neck. "How can you say that?!"

Obelix didn't return the hug, turning his head away. "It's the truth."

Asterix pulled away, hands on Obelix's arms, to look into his eyes. "What on earth's got into you?"

The Roman agent cleared his throat. "Um… well, that might have been part of the plot as well."

Asterix turned to him. His glare could melt steel. "This is your doing, isn't it?"

"Ummm…" Caius Insidius went pale underneath his pigmentation, which made him rather yellowish. "I can show you exactly how. If," he added hurriedly, "you promise not to thump me."

Asterix sighed, kneeling on the edge of Obelix's bed. He didn't think he could thump a fly right now, much less a Roman. "I…" He looked from Obelix to the Roman who'd poisoned his mind. Who'd also saved Asterix's life. Whom Obelix now trusted.

"Ahem." Asterix glanced up. Getafix was standing at the door. He gave a slight nod.

Asterix glanced back at Obelix, who was rather pale and scared. That, more than anything else, decided him. "You'll take me into his mind? Show me what you did to him?"

"No!" Obelix shook his head violently. The motion jarred his ruined leg. "Ow!"

Asterix waved a hand. "Oh, shut up." He turned to the Roman. "What do I have to do?"

"Just lie down," said Caius Insidius. "In a trance, you go limp. So you should lie down and..."

"No, Asterix!" Obelix seemed positively frightened now. "I don't want you to!"

"Yes, well. Budge up." Asterix nudged at his friend's side until he'd carved out a tiny sliver of bed next to Obelix, and lay down. "Ready, O Roman?"

"He does have to give permission," said the shaman. "We can't do it against his will."

"Obelix won't shut me out." Asterix looked up at Obelix, softening his gaze. "Would you shut me out, Obelix?"

Getafix had to hide a smile as Obelix frowned hard in a futile attempt to resist the emotional blackmail. "Well, no, I suppose… but… Oh, all right." Resigned, the big man lay back and closed his eyes.

"Before a performance, we usually eat something with sugar in it," Latraviata said softly to the druid.

Getafix's face brightened. "An excellent idea." He darted out of the room as the others stared, returning with three small gourds, which he handed to Asterix, Obelix and Insidius. "This will give you strength."

"To thump him?" Asterix jerked his head at Insidius, only half-jokingly. Anything that had Obelix this scared must be bad. He eyed the gourd, then shrugged mentally and downed it. "What do I have to do now?"

"Lie back and relax," said the Roman. "Touch him." He took over Asterix's stool by the bed, positioning himself so he'd land on the Gaulish pair if he slumped. Then he reached out and laid a hand carefully on Obelix's forearm. Asterix was already close to his friend, half-sitting up with his head resting on the broad shoulder. "Breathe deeply, as if you're trying to sleep."

Asterix did. A strange sucking sensation took him over, a vertigo that pulled him backwards. "Huh!" He opened his eyes.

"Try to relax," Getafix instructed.

"All right." Asterix closed his eyes again, a little more prepared for the pull this time. It was disorienting and dizzying but not threatening—just unfamiliar. He reached blindly out and found Obelix's hand. Gripping tightly, he let himself slip into the soft darkness.


End file.
